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The  best  works  of  new  fiction 


1 

2 

3 

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6 

7 

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10 

11 

12 

13 

14 


IT 

18 

19 

20 
21 
22 


A  Wicked  Girl,  by  M.  C.  Hay . 3c 

The  Moonstone,  by  Collins . 2t> 

Moths,  by  Ouida . 25 

Strange  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll,  by  R.  L. 

Stevenson  ;  and  Faust  .  25 

Peck’s  Bad  Boy  and  his  Pa,  by  Geo. 

W.  Peck . 25 

Jane  Eyre,  by  Charlotte  Bronte  ...  .25 
Peck’s  Sunshine,  by  Geo.  W.  Peck.  .25 

Adam  Bede,  by  George  Eliot . 25 

9  Bill  Nye  and  Boomerang,  by  Bill 

Nye  Himself . 25 

What  Will  the  World  Say  ? . 25 

Lime  Kiln  Club,  by  M.  Quad . 25 

She,  by  H.  Rider  Haggard . 25 

Dora  Thorne,  by  B.  M.  Clay . 25 

File  No.  113,  by  E.  Gaboriau . 25 

15  Phyllis,  by  The  Duchess . 25 

16  Lady  Yalworth’s  Diamonds,  and  The 
Haunted  Chamber,  by  The  Duchess.25 
A  House  Party,  and  A  Rainy  June, 

by  Ouida . . . 25 

Set  in  Diamonds,  by  B.  M.  Clay . 25 

Her  Mother’s  Sin,  by  B.  M.  Clay _ 25 

Other  People’s  Money,  by  Gaboriau. 25 
Airy  Fairy  Lilian,  by  The  Duchess.. 25 
In  Peril  of  His  Life,  by  Gaboriau. .  ..25 

23  The  Old  Mam’selle’s  Secret,  by  E.  A. 

Marlitt . 25 

24  The  Guilty  River  and  The  New  Mag¬ 

dalen,  by  Wilkie  Collins . 25 

25  John  Halifax,  by  Miss  Mulock . 25 

26  Marjorie,  by  B.  M.  Clay . 25 

27  Lady  Audley’s  Secret,  by  Braddon.  .25 

2S  Peck’s  Fun,  by  George  W.  Peck . 25 

29  Thorns  and  Orange  Blossoms,  by  B. 

M.  Clay . .  ...  25 

30  East  Lynne,  by  Mrs.  Wood . 25 

31  King  Solom on’s  Mines,  by  Haggard.. 25 

The  Witch’ s  Head,  by  Haggard . 25 

The  Master  Passion,  by  Marryat _ 25 

Jess,  by  H.  Rider  Haggard . 25 

Molly  Bawn,  by  The  Duchess . 25 

Fair  Women,  by  Mrs.  Forrester _ 25 

3T  The  Merry  Men,  by  Stevenson . 25 

33  Old  Myddleton’s  Money,  by  Hay. . .  .25 

Mrs.  Geoffrey,  by  The  Duchess . 25 

Hypatia,  by  Rev.  Charles  Kingsley.  .25 

What  Would  You  Do  Love? . .  25 

Eli  Perkins, Wit,  Humor,  and  Pat,hos.25 

Heart  and  Science,  by  Collins . 25 

Baled  Hay,  by  Bill  Nye . 25 

45  Harry  Lorrequer,  by  Lever . 25 

46  Called  Back  and  Dark  Days,  by  Hugh 

Conway  . 25 

47  Endymion,  by  Benjamin  Disraeli. ..  .25 
4S  Claribel’s  Love  Story,  by  B.  M.  Clay. 25 

49  Forty  Liars,  by  Bill  Nye  . .25  I 

50  Dawn,  by  H.  Rider  Haggard . 25 

51  Shadow  of  a  Sin,  and  Wedded  and 

Parted,  by  B.  M.  Clay .  25 


32 

3?. 

34 

35 

36 


39 

40 

41 

42 

43 

44 


52  Wee  Wifie,  by  Rosa  N.  Carey . 25 

53  The  Dead  Secret,  by  Collins . 25 

54  Count  of  Monte  Cristo,  by  Dumas... 50 

55  The  Wandering  Jew,  by  Sue . 50 

56  The  Mysteries  of  Paris,  by  Sue . 50 

67  Middlemarch,  by  George  Eliot . 50 

58  Scottish  Chiefs,  by  Jane  Porter . 50 

59  Under  Two  Flags,  by  Ouida . .50 

60  David  Copperfield,  by  Dickens .  50 

61  Monsieur  Lecoq,  by  Gaboriau . 50 

62  Springhaven,  by  R.  D.  Blackmore. . .  25 

63  Speeches  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher  on 

the  War . 50 

64  A  Tramp  Actor . 25 

65  20,000  Leagues  Under  the  Sea,  by 

Jules  Verne .  25 

66  Tour  of  the  World  in  80  Days,  by 

Jules  Verne . 25 

67  The  Golden  Hope,  by  Russell . 25 

68  Oliver  Twist,  by  Dickens . 25 

69  Lovell’s  Whim,  by  Shirley  Smith. . .  .25 

70  Allan  Quatermain,  by  Haggard..  .25 

71  The  Great  Hesper,  by  Frank  Barrett. 25 

72  As  in  -a  Looking  Glass,  by  F.  C. 

Philips . . —  25 

73  This  Man’s  Wife,  by  G.  M.  Fenn _ 25 

74  Sabina  Zembra,  by  Wm.  Black . 25 

75  The  Bag  of  Diamonds,  by  G.  M.  Fenn.25 

76  £10,000,  by  T.  E.  Willson . 25 

77  Red  Spider,  by  S.  Baring-Gould _ .25 

78  On  the  Scent,  by  Lady  Margaret 

Majendie .  25 

79  Beforehand,  by  T.  L.  Meade . 25 

80  The  Dean  and  his  Daughter,  by  the 

author  of  “As  in  a  Looking  Glass.”25 
SI  A  Modern  Circe,  by  The  Duchess. . .  .25 

82  Scheherazade,  by  Florence  Warden. 25 

83  “The  Duchess,”  by  The  Duchess. ...25 

84  Peck’s  Irish  Friend,  Phelan 

Geogehan,  by  Geo.  W.  Peck . 25 

85  Her  Desperate  Victory,  by  Rayne. .  .25 

86  Strange  Adventures  of  Lucy  Smith, 

by  F.  C.  Philips . 25 

87  Jessie,  by  author  of  “  Addie’s  Hus-  - 

band  ” .  25 

88  Memories  of  Men  who  Saved  the 

Union,  by  Donu  Piatt .  25 

89  Dick’s  Wandering,  by  Sturgis .  25 

90  Confessions  of  a  Society  Man . 25 

91  Lady  Grace,  by  Mrs.  Henry  Wood, 

author  of  “  East  Lynne  ” . 25 

92  The  Frozen  Pirate,  by  Russell . 25 

93  Jack  and  Three  Jills,  by  Philips...  25 

94  A  Tale  of  Three  Lions,  by  Haggard. 25 

95  From  the  other  Side,  by  Notley . 2i5 

96  Saddle  and  Sabre,  by  Hawley  Smart. 25 

97  Treasure  Island,  by  R.  L.  Steven¬ 

son . 25 

98  One  Traveller  Returns,  by  D.  C. 

Murray . 25 

99  Mona’s  Choice,  by  Mrs.  Alexander. .  25 


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only,  the  publication  of  which  series  is  continued  by  the  publishers  of  “  Lovell’s  Library.” 


BY  AUTHOR  OF  “  ADDIE’S  HUS¬ 


BAND  ” 

HOG  Jessie . 20 

Addie's  Husband .  20 

BY  G.  M.  ADAM  AND  A.  E. 
WETHERALD 

846  An  Algonquin  Maiden . 20 

BY  MAX  ADELER 

295  Random  Shots . 20 

325  Elbow  Room . 20 

BY  GUSTAVE  AIMARD 

560  The  Adventurers . 10 

667  The  Trail-Hunter . 10 

573  Pearl  of  the  Andes . 10 

1011  Pirates  of  the  Prairies . 10 

1021  The  Trapper’s  Daughter . 10 

1032  The  Tiger  Slayer . 10 

1045  Trappers  of  Arkansas . 10 

1052  Border  Rifles .  10 

1063  The  Freebooters . 10 

1069  The  White  Scalper . 10 

1071  Guide  of  the  Desert . 10 

1075  The  Insurgent  Chief .  . 10 

1079  The  Flying  Horseman . 10 

1081  Last  of  the  Ancas . 10 

10S6  Missouri  Outlaws . 10 

1089  Prairie  Flower .  10 

1098  Indian  Scout . 10 

1101  Stronghand  . 10 

1103  Bee  Hunters . 10 

1107  Stoneheart  . 10 

1112  Queen  of  the  Savannah . 10 

1115  The  Buccaneer  Chief . 10 

1118  The  Smuggler  Hero . 10 

1121  The  Rebel  Chief . 10 

1127  The  Gold  Seekers . 10 

1133  Indian  Chief . 10 

1138  Red  Track . 10 

1145  The  Treasure  of  Pearls . 10 

1150  Red  River  Half  Breed . 10 

BY  MRS.  ALDERDICE 

346  An  Interesting  Case  .  20 

BY  GRANT  ALLEN 

For  Maimie’s  Sake . 20 


BY  MRS.  ALEXANDER 

62  The  Wooing  O’t,  2  Parts,  each .  15 

99  The  Admiral’s  Ward . 20 

209  The  Executor . 20 

349  Valerie’s  Fate .  10 

664  At  Bay . 10 

746  Beaton’s  Bargain . 20 

777  A  Second  Life .  20 

799  Maid,  Wife,  or  Widow . 10 

840  By  Woman’s  Wit . 20 

995  Which  Shall  it  Be? . 20 

1044  Forging  the  Fetters . 10 

1105  Mona’s  Choice . 20 

1142  A  Life  Interest . 20 

Look  Before  You  Leap . 20 

The  Heritage  of  Langdale . 20 

Ralph  Wilton’s  Weird . 10 

BY  F.  ANSTEY 

30  Vice  Versk;  or,  A  Lesson  to  Fathers. .  20 

394  The  Giant’s  Robe . 20 

453  Black  Poodle,  and  Other  Tales . 20 

616  The  Tinted  Venus . 15 

755  A  Fallen  Idol . 2(f 

BY  THE  DUKE  OF  ARGYLE 

1175  The  Reign  of  Law . 25 

BY  AUTHOR  OF  “  THE  BELLE  OF 
THE  FAMILY,”  ETC. 

The  Gambler’s  Wife . 20 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  “  FOR 
MOTHER’S  SAKE  ” 

Leonie . 20 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  “  LEON- 
ETTE’S  SECRET  ” 

Pauline . 20 

BY  T.  S.  ARTHUR 

496  Woman’s  Trials . 20 

507  The  Two  Wives . 15 

518  Married  Life . 15 

538  The  Ways  of  Providence . 15 

545  Home  Scenes . 15 

554  Stories  for  Parents . 15 

563  Seed-Time  and  Harvest . 15 

568  Words  for  the  Wise . 15 

574  Stories  for  Young  Housekeepers.  .  .15 

579  Lessons  in  Life  . 15 

582  Off-Hand  Sketches .  15 

585  Tried  and  Tempted . 15 


BY  HANS  CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN 


419  Fairy  Tales . . 20 

BY  G.  W.  APPLETON 

A  Terrible  Legacy . 20 

•  ) 
o 


LOVELL*  S 

BY  AUTHOR  OF  “  QUADROONA  ” 


Plot  and  Counterplot . 20 

BY  EDWIN  ARNOLD 

436  The  Light  of  Asia . 20 

455  Pearls  of  the  Faith . . . 15 

472  Indian  Song  of  Songs . 10 

BY  EDWARD  AVELING 

1066  An  American  Journey . 30 

BY  W.  E.  AYTOUN 

351  Lays  of  the  Scottish  Cavaliers . 20 

BY  ADAM  BADEAU 

756  Conspiracy . 25 

BY  SIR  SAMUEL  BAKER 

206  Cast  up  by  the  Sea . 20 

227  Rifle  and  Hound  in  Ceylon . .  .20 

233  Eight  Years’  Wandering  in  Ceylon. . 20 

BY  C.  W.  BALESTIER 

381  A  Fair  Device . 20 

405  Life  of  J.  G.  Blaine . 20 

BY  R.  M.  BALLANTYNE 

215  The  Red  Eric . 20 

226  The  Fii-e  Brigade . 20 

239  Erling  the  Bold . 20 

241  Deep  Down . 20 

BY  S.  BARING-GOULD 

875  Little  Tu’penny . 10 

1061  Red  Spider . 20 

BY  A.  E.  BAR R 

The  Last  of  the  MacAllisters . 10 

BY  FRANK  BARRETT 

1009  The  Great  Hesper .  20 

1130  Lieutenant  Barnabas . 20 

BY  GEORGE  MIDDLETON  BAYNE 

460  Galaski .  20 

BY  AUGUST  BEBEL 

712  Woman . 30 

BY  MRS.  LENOX  BELL 

Not  to  be  Won . 20 

Wife  or  Slave . 20 

BY  MRS.  E.  BEDELL  BENJAMIN 

748  Our  Roman  Palace . 20 

1077  Jim,  the  Parson . 20 

BY  A.  BENRIMO 

470  Vie . 15 

BY  E.  BERGER 

901  Charles  Auchester . 20 

BY  W.  BERGSOE 

77  Pillone . 15 

BY  H.  BERNARD 

Locked  Out . 10 

BY  E.  BERTHET 

366  The  Sergeant’s  Legacy . 20 


LIBRARY. 


BY  WALTER  BESANT 

18  They  Were  Married . 10 

103  Let  Nothing  You  Dismay . 10 

257  All  in  a  Garden  Fair . 20 

268  When  the  Ship  Comes  Home . 10 

384  Dorothy  Forster . 20 

699  Self  or  Bearer . 10 

842  The  World  Went  Very  Well  Then  .  .20 

847  The  Holy  Rose . 10 

1002  To  Call  Her  Mine . . 20 

1109  Katharine  Regina . 20 

1159  In  Luck  at  Last . 20~- 

BY  M.  BETHAM-EDWARDS 

203  Disarmed . 15 

663  The  Flower  of  Doom . 10 

1005  Next  of  Kin . 20 

BY  BJORNSTJERNE  BJORNSON 

3  The  Happy  Boy . 10 

4  Arne . 10 

BY  WILLIAM  BLACK 

40  An  Adventure  in  Thule,  etc .  10 

48  A  Princess  of  Thule . 20 

82  A  Daughter  of  Heth . . . 20 

85  Shandon  Bells . 20 

93  Macleod  of  Dare . 20 

136  Yolande . 20 

142  Strange  Adventures  of  a  Phaeton. .  .20 

146  White  Wings . 20 

153  Sunrise,  2  Parts,  each . 15 

178  Madcap  Violet  . 20 

180  Kilmeny . 20 

182  That  Beautiful  Wretch . 20 

184  Green  Pastures,  etc  . 20 

188  In  Silk  Attire . 20 

213  The  Three  Feathers . 20 

216  Lady  Silverdale’s  Sweetheart . 10 

217  The  Four  MacNicols . 10 

218  Mr.  Pisistratus  Brown,  M.P . 10 

225  Oliver  Goldsmith . 10 

232  Monarch  of  Mincing  Lane . 20 

456  Judith  Shakespeare . 20 

584  Wise  Women  of  Inverness . 10 

678  White  Heather . . . 20 

958  Sabina  Zembra . 20 

BY  R.  D.  BLACKMORE 

851  Lorna  Doone,  Part  1 . 20 

851  Lorna  Doone,  Part  II . 20 

936  Maid  of  Sker. . 20 

955  Cradock  Nowell,  Part  1 . 20 

955  Cradock  Nowell,  Part  IT.  . . 20 

961  Springhaven . 20 

1034  Mary  Anerley . 20 

1035  Alice  Lorraine . 20 

1036  Cristowell . 20 

1037  Clara  Vaughan . 20 

1038  Cripps  the  Carrier . 20 

1039  Remarkable  History  of  Sir  Tlios. 

Upmore .  . .  .20 

1040  Erema  ;  or,  My  Father’s  Sin .  ...  20 

BY  LILLIE  D.  BLAKE 

105  Woman’s  Place  To-day . 20 

597  Fettered  for  Life . *  ’ " ' '  25 


BY  M.  BLOUNT 

Two  Wedding  Rings . 20 


4 


lovell’s  library. 


BY  NELLIE  BLY 

Ten  Days  in  a  Mad  House . 20 

Six  Months  in  Mexico . 20 

BY  KEMPER  BOCOCK 

1078  Tax  the  Area . 20 

BY  MISS  M.  E.  BRADDON 

88  The  Golden  Calf . 2C 

104  Lady  Audley’s  Secret . 20 

214  Phantom  Fortune . 20 

266  Under  the  Red  Flag . 10 

444  An  Ishmaelite . 20 

555  A.urora  Floyd . 20 

588  To  the  Bitter  End . 20 

596  Dead  Sea  Fruit . 20 

698  The  Mistletoe  Bough . 20 

766  Vixen . 20 

783  The  Octoroon . 20 

814  Mohawks . 20 

868  One  Thing  Needful . 20 

869  Barbara ;  or,  Splendid  Misery . 20 

870  John  Marchmont’s  Legaey . 20 

871  Joshua  Haggard’s  Daughter . 20 

872  Taken  at  the  Flood  . 20 

873  Asphodel . 20 

877  The  Doctor’s  Wife  . 20 

878  Only  a  Clod . 20 

879  Sir  Jasper’s  Tenant . 20 

880  Lady’s  Mile . 20 

881  Birds  of  Prey . 20 

882  Charlotte’s  Inheritance . 20 

883  Rupert  Godwin . 20 

886  Strangers  and  Pilgrims . 20 

887  A  Strange  World . 20 

888  Mount  Royal . 20 

889  Just  As  I  Am . 20 

890  Dead  Men’s  Shoes . 20 

892  Hostages  to  Fortune . 20 

893  Fenton’ s  Q  ue  st . 20 

894  The  Cloven  Foot  . 20 

Diavola,  Part  1 . 20 

Diavola,  Part  II . 20 

Married  in  Haste — edited  by  Miss 

Brad  don .  20 

Put  to  the  Test — edited  by  Miss 

Braddon . 20 

Only  a  Woman— edited  by  Miss  Brad¬ 
don  . 20 

BY  ANNIE  BRADSHAW 

716  A  Crimson  Stain . 20 

BY  CHARLOTTE  BREMER 

448  Life  of  Fredrilca  Bremer . 20 

BY  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE 

74  Jane  Eyre . 20 

897  Shirley . 20 

BY  RHODA  BROUGHTON 

23  Second  Thoughts . 20 

230  Belinda . 20 

781  Betty’s  Visions . 15 

841  Dr.  Cupid  . 20 

1022  Good-Bye,  Sweetheart  ...  . 20 

1023  Red  as  a  Rose  is  She .  . 20 

1024  Cometh  up  as  a  Flower . 20 

1025  Not  Wisely  but  too  Well .  20 

1026  Nancy . 20 

1027  Joan . 20 


BY  ELIZABETH  BARRETT 


BROWNING 

421  Aurora  Leigh . 20 

479  Poems . 35 

BY  ROBERT  BROWNING 

552  Selections  from  Poetical  Works . 20 


BY  WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT 


443  Poems . 20 

EY  ROBERT  BUCHANAN 

318  The  New  Abelard . . . . 20 

696  The  Master  of  the  Mine . 10 

Matt . 10 

The  Shadow  of  the  Sword . 20 

God  and  Man . 20 

The  Martyrdom  of  Madeline . 20 

Annan  Water . 20 

Love  Me  Forever . 10 

BY  JOHN  BUNYAN 

200  The  Pilgrim’s  Progress . 20 

BY  FRED  BURNABY 

Our  Radicals . 20 

BY  ROBERT  BURNS 

430  Poems .  20 

BY  REV.  JAS.  S.  BUSH 

113  More  Words  about  the  Bible . 20 

BY  BEATRICE  MAY  BUTT 

Delicia .  20 

BY  E.  LASSETER  BYNNER 

100  Nimport,  2  Parts,  each . 15 

102  Tritons,  2  Parts,  each . . . 15 

BY  HALL  CAINE 

1143  The  Deemster . 20 

BY  THOMAS  CAMPBELL 

526  Poems . 20 

BY  MRS.  CAMPBELL-PRAED 

The  Head  Station . 20 


BY  ROSA  NOUCHETE  CAREY 


660  For  Lilias .  20 

911  Not  Like  other  Girls . 20 

912  Robert  Ord’s  Atonement . 20 

959  Wee  Wifie . 20 

..  960  Wooed  and  Married . . 20 

1140  Only  the  Governess . 20 


BY  WM.  CARLETON 

190  Willy  Reilly . 20 

820  Shane  Fadh’s  Wedding . 10 

821  Larry  McFarland’s  Wake . 10 

822  The  Party  Fight  and  Funeral . 10 

823  The  Midnight  Mass . 10 

824  PhilPurcel . 10 

825  An  Irish  Oath . 10 

826  Going  to  Maynooth . 10 

827  Phelim  O’Toole’s  Courtship . 10 

828  Dominick,  the  Poor  Scholar . 10 

829  Neal  Malone . 10 

BY  LEWIS  CARROLL 

480  Alice’s  Adventures . 20 

481  Through  the  Looking-Glass . 20 


LOVELL5  S  LIBRARY. 


BY  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

486  History  of  French  Revolution,  2 


Parts,  each .  25 

494  Past  and  Present . 20 

500  The  Diamond  Necklace  ;  and  Mira- 

beau . 20 

503  Chartism . 20 

508  Sartor  Resartus . 20 

514  Early  Kings  of  Norway . 20 

520  Jean  Paul  Friedrich  Richter . 10 

522  Goethe,  and  Miscellaneous  Essays. .  .10 

525  Life  of  Heyne . 15 

52S  Voltaire  and  Novalis . . 15 

541  Heroes,  and  Hero-Worship . 20 

546  Signs  of  the  Times . 15 

550  German  Literature . 15 

501  Portraits  of  John  Knox . 15 

571  Count  Cagliostro,  etc  . 15 

578  Frederick  the  Great,  Vol.  I . 20 

580  “  “  “  Vol.  II . 20 

591  “  “  “  Vol.  Ill . 20 

610  “  “  “  Vol.  IV . 20 

619  “  “  “  Vol.  V . 20 

622  “  “  “  Vol.  VI . 20 

626  “  “  “  Vol.  VII . 20 

628  “  “  “  Vol.  VIII . 20 

630  Life  of  John  Sterling . 20 

633  Latter-Day  Pamphlets . 20 

636  Life  of  Schiller . 20 

643  Oliver  Cromwell,  Vol.  1 . 25 

646  “  “  Vol.  II . 25 

649  “  «  Vol.  Ill . 25 

052  Characteristics  and  other  Essays. . .  .15 
656  Corn  Law  Rhymes  and  other  Essays.  15 
658  Baillie  the  Covenanter  and  other  Es¬ 
says  .  15 

661  Dr.  Francia  and  other  Essays . 15 

1088  Wilhelm  Meister’s  Apprenticeship, 

2  Parts,  each  ...  . . 20 

1090  Wilhelm  Meister’s  Travels . 20 

BY  “CAVENDISH” 

422  Cavendish  Card  Essays . 15 

BY  CERVANTES 

417  Don  Quixote . 30 

BY  L.  W.  CHAMPNEY 

119  Bourbon  Lilies . 20 

BY  VICTOR  CHERBULIEZ 

242  Samuel  Brohl  &i  Co . 20 

BY  MRS.  C.  CLARKE 

More  True  Than  Truthful  . .  20 

BY  REV.  JAS.  FREEMAN  CLARK 

167  Anti-Slavery  Days . 20 

BY  CRISTABEL  R.  COLERIDGE 

1028  A  Near  Relation . 20 

BY  S.  T.  COLERIDGE 

628  Poems . . .  . .  30 

BY  B.  COLLENSIE 

A  Double  Marriage . 20 

BY  BERTHA  M.  CLAY 

183  Her  Mother’s  Sin . 20 

277  Dora  Thorne . 20 

287  Be yond  Pardon . 20 

420  A  Broken  Wedding-Ring . 20 

423  Repented  at  Leisure . 20 


458  Sunshine  and  Roses . 20 

465  The  Earl’s  Atonement . 20 

474  A  Woman’s  Temptation . 20 

476  Love  Works  Wonders .  ..20 

558  Fair  but  False . 10 

593  Between  Two  Sins . 10 

651  At  War  with  Herself . 15 

669  Hilda . 10 

689  Her  Martyrdom . 20 

692  Lord  Lynn’s  Choice .  10 

694  The  Shadow  of  a  Sin . 10 

695  Wedded  and  Parted . 10 

700  In  Cupid’s  Net . 10 

701  Lady  Darner’s  Secret . 20 

718  A  Gilded  Sin . 10 

720  Between  Two  Loves . 20 

727  For  Another’s  Sin . 20 

730  Romance  of  a  Young  Girl . 20 

733  A  Queen  Amongst  Women . 10 

738  A  Golden  Dawn . 10 

739  Like  no  Other  Love . 10 

740  A  Bitter  Atonement . 2G 

744  Evelyn’s  Folly . 20 

752  Set  in  Diamonds . 20 

764  A  Fair  Mystery . 20 

800  Thorns  and  Orange  Blossoms . 10 

801  Romance  of  a  Black  Veil . .  .10 

803  Love’s  Warfare . 10 

804  Madolin’s  Lover . 20 

806  From  Out  the  Gloom . 20 

807  Which  Loved  Him  Best . 10 

808  A  True  Magdalen . 20 

809  The  Sin  of  a  Lifetime . 20 

810  Prince  Charlie’s  Daughter . 10 

811  A  Golden  Heart . 10 

812  Wife  in  Name  Only . 20 

815  A  Woman’s  Error . 20 

896  Marjorie . 20 

922  A  Wilful  Maid  . 20 

923  Lady  Castlemaine’s  Divorce . 20 

926  Claribel’s  Love  Story . 20 

928  Thrown  on  the  World . 20 

929  Under  a  Shadow . .20 

930  A  Struggle  for  a  Ring . 20 

932  Hilary’s  Folly . 20 

933  A  Haunted  Life . 20 

934  A  Woman’s  Love  Story . 20 

969  A  Woman’s  War . 20 

984  ’Twixt  Smile  and  Tear . 20 

985  Lady  Diana’s  Pride . 20 

986  Belle  of  Lynn . 20 

988  Marjorie’s  Fate . 20 

989  Sweet  Cymbelino . 20 

1007  Redeemed  by  Love . 20 

1012  The  Squire’s  Darling . 10 

1013  The  Mystery  of  Colde  Fell . 20 

1030  On  Her  Wedding  Morn . 10 

1031  The  Shattered  Idol . 10 

1033  Letty  Leigh .  . 10 

1041  The  Mystery  of  the  Holly  Tree . 10 

1042  The  Earl’s  Error . . . 10 

1043  Arnold’s  Promise . 10 

1051  An  Unnatural  Bondage . 10 

1064  The  Duke’s  Secret . 20 

Diana’s  Discipline . 20 

Golden  Gate . 20 

His  Wife’s  Judgment .  20 

A  Guiding  Star . 20 

A  Rose  in  Thorns . 20 

A  Thorn  in  Her  Heart . 26 

A  Nameless  Secret . 20 

A  Mad  Love, . 20 

G 


LOVELL’S  LIBRARY. 


BY  MABEL  COLLINS 

Lord  Vanecourt’s  Daughter  .......  20 

The  Prettiest  Woman  in  Warsaw . .  .20 

BY  WILKIE  COLLINS 

8  The  Moonstone,  Part  1 . 10 

9  The  Moonstone,  Part  II . 10 

24  The  New  Magdalen . 20 

87  Heart  and  Science . 20 

418  “I  Say  No” . 20 

437  Tales  of  Two  Idle  Apprentices . 15 

683  The  Ghost’s  Touch . 10 

686  My  Lady’s  Money . 10 

722  The  Evil  Genius . 20 

839  The  Guilty  River . 10 

957  The  Dead  Secret . 20 

996  The  Queen  of  Hearts . 20 

1003  The  Haunted  Hotel . 10 

1176  The  Legacy  of  Cain . 20 

BY  HUGH  CONWAY 

429  Called  Back . 15 

462  Dark  Days  . 15 

612  Carriston’s  Gift . 10 

617  Paul  Vargas:  a  Mystery . 10 

631  A  Family  Affair . 20 

667  Story  of  a  Sculptor . 10 

672  Slings  and  Arrows . 10 

715  A  Cardinal  Sin . . 20 

745  Living  or  Dead . 20 

750  Somebody’s  Story . 10 

968  Bound  by  a  Spell . 20 

All  in  One . 20 

A  Dead  Man’s  Face . 10 

BY  J.  FENIMORE  COOPER 

6  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans . 20 

53  The  Spy . 20 

365  The  Pathfinder . 20 

378  Homeward  Bound . 20 

441  Home  as  Found . 20 

463  The  Deerslayer . 30 

467  The  Prairie . 20 

471  The  Pioneer . 25 

484  The  Two  Admirals . 20 

488  The  Water- Witch . 20 

491  The  Red  Rover . 20 

501  The  Pilot . 20 

506  Wing  and  Wing . 20 

512  Wyandotte . 20 

517  Heidenmauer . 20 

519  The  Headsman . 20 

624  The  Bravo . 20 

527  Lionel  Lincoln. . 20 

529  Wept  of  Wish-ton-Wish . 20 

632  Afloat  and  Ashore . 20 

539  Miles  Wallingford . 20 

543  The  Monikins .  .  .20 

548  Mercedes  of  Castile . 20 

553  The  Sea  Lions . 20 

559  The  Crater . 20 

562  Oak  Openings . 20 

570  Satanstoe . 20 

576  The  Chain-Bearer . 20 

687  Ways  of  the  Hour . 20 

601  Precaution . 20 

603  Redskins . 25 

611  Jack  Tier . '. . .  20 

BY  C.  H.  W.  COOK 

1099  The  -True  Solution  "of  the  Labor 
Question . 10 


BY  KINAHAN  CORNWALLIS 


409  Adrift  with  a  Vengeance . .  .  .25 

BY  THE  “COUNTESS” 

The  World  Between  Them . 20 

A  Passion  Flower . 20 

BY  GEORGIANA  M.  CRAIK 

1006  A  Daughter  of  the  People . 20 

BY  MADAME  AUGUSTE  CRAVEN 

Fleurange .  20 

BY  R.  CRISWELL 

350  Grandfather  Lickshingle  . 20 

BY  B.  M.  CROKER 

Pretty  Miss  Neville . 20 

BY  MAY  CROMMELIN 

Goblin  Gold .  10 

BY  S.  C.  CUMBERLAND 

The  Rabbi’s  Spell . 10 

BY  MRS.  DALE 

Fair  and  False . 20 

Behind  the  Silver  Veil . 20 

BY  R.  H.  DANA,  JR. 

464  Two  Years  before  the  Mast . 20 

BY  DANTE 

345  Dante’s  Vision  of  Hell,  Purgatory, 

and  Paradise . 20 

BY  FLORA  A.  DARLING 

260  Mrs.  Darling’s  War  Letters . 20 

BY  JOYCE  DARRELL 

315  Winifred  Power  . 20 

BY  ALPHONSE  DAUDET 

478  Tartarin  of  Tarascon . 20 

604  Sidonie . 20 

613  Jack . 20 

615  The  Little  Good-for-Nothing . 20 

645  The  Nabob . 25 

Sappho . 10 

BY  REV.  C.  H.  DAVIES,  D.D. 

453  Mystic  London . 20 

BY  VARINA  ANNE  DAVIS 


1166  An  Irish  Knight  of  the  19th  Century.  25 

BY  THE  DEAN  OF  ST.  PAUL’S 


431  Life  of  Spenser .  10 

BY  C.  DEBANS 

475  A  Sheep  in  Wolf’s  Clothing . .20 

John  Bull’s  Misfortunes . .  .10 

BY  REV.  C.  F.  DEEMS,  D.D. 

704  Evolution . 20 

BY  DANIEL  DEFOE 

428  Robinson  Crusoe . 25 

BY  A.  D’ENNERY 

The  Two  Orphans . 20 

The  Wife’s  Sacrifice . 10 


7 


LOVELL’S 

BY  THOS.  BE  QUINCEY 


20  The  Spanish  Nun  . . . 10 

1070  Confessions  of  an  English  Opium 
Eater . 20 

BY  CARL  DETLEF 

29  Irene;  or,  The  Lonely  Manor . 20 

BY  CHARLES  DICKENS 

10  Oliver  Twist .  20 

38  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities . 20 

75  Child’s  History  of  England . 20 

91  Pickwick  Papers,  2  Parts,  each . 20 

140  The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth  . 10 

144  Old  Curiosity  Shop,  2  Parts,  each. . .  15 

150  Barnaby  Budge,  2  Parts,  each . 15 

158  David  Copperfleld,  2  Parts,  each ....  20 

170  Hard  Times . 20 

192  Great  Expectations .  20 

201  Martin  Chuzzlewit,  2  Parts,  each. . .  .20 

210  American  Notes . 20 

219  Dombey  and  Son,  2  Parts,  each . 20 

223  Little  Dorrit,  2  Parts,  each . 20 

228  Our  Mutual  Friend,  2  Parts,  each ...  20 
231  Nicholas  Nickleby,  2  Parts,  each. . .  .20 

234  Pictures  from  Italy . 15 

237  The  Boy  at  Mugby . 10 

244  Bleak  House,  2  Parts,  each . 20 

246  Sketches  of  the  Young  Couples . 10 

261  Master  Humphrey’s  Clock . 10 

267  The  Haunted  House,  etc . 10 

270  The  Mudfog  Papers,  etc .  . .  10 

273  Sketches  by  Boz . .20 

274  A  Christmas  Carol,  etc. . . 15 

282  Uncommercial  Traveller . 20 

288  Somebody’s  Luggage,  etc . 10 

293  The  Battle  of  Life,  etc .  10 

297  Mystery  of  Edwin  Drood . 20 

298  Reprinted  Pieces  . 20 

302  No  Thoroughfare . 15 

437  Tales  of  Two  Idle  Apprentices . 10 

BENJAMIN  DISRAELI’S  WORKS 

Loth  air . 20 

The  Young  Duke . 20 

Tancred  ;  or,  The  New  Crusade. . .  .20 

Miriam  Alroy . 20 

Henrietta  Temple . 20 

Coningsby  . . 20 

Sybil ;  or,  The  Two  Nations . 20 

Yenetia . 20 

Endymion . 20 

Contarina  Fleming . 20 

Vivian  Gray,  Part  1 . 20 

Vivian  Gray,  Part  II . .  . .  .20 

The  Rise  of  Iskander  and  Other 

Tales  .  . 20 

Lord  Beaconsfield’s  Life  and  Corre¬ 
spondence  . 10 

BY  WILLIAM  DODSON 

A  Choice  of  Chance . ..20 

BY  PROF.  DOWDEN 

404  Life  of  Southey . 10 

BY  EDMUND  DOWNEY 

1126  A  House  of  Fears . 20 

In  One  Town ...  . !  .  "  .20 

BY  EDITH  S.  DREWRY 

Baptized  with  a  Curse . 20 


LIBRARY. 


BY  JOHN  DRYDEN 

498  Poems . 30 

BY  F.  DU  BOISGOBEY 

1018  The  Condemned  Door . 20 

1080  The  Blue  Veil;  or,  The  Crime  of 

the  Tower . 20 

1120  The  Matapan  Affair . 20 

1146  The  Detective's  Eye . 10 

1148  The  Red  Lottery  Ticket . 10 

1156  The  Severed  Hand . 20 

1171  A  Fight  for  a  Fortune . 20 

1172  Bertha’s  Secret . 20 

1174  The  Results  of  a  Duel  . 20 

The  Parisian  Detective . 20 

BY  THE  “DUCHESS” 

58  Portia . 20 

76  Molly  Bawn . 20 

78  Phyllis . 20 

86  Monica . 10 

90  Mrs.  Geoffrey . 20 

92  Airy  Fairy  Lilian . 20 

126  Loys,  Lord  Beresford . 20 

132  Moonshine  and  Mai’guerites . 10 

162  Faith  and  Unfaith . 20 

168  Beauty’s  Daughters .  20 

284  Rossmoyne . 20 

451  Doris . 20 

477  A  Week  in  ICillarney  . 10 

530  In  Durance  Vile . 10 

618  Dick’s  Sweetheart ;  or,  “  O  Tender 

Dolores” . 20 

621  A  Maiden  all  Forlorn . 10 

624  A  Passive  Crime . 10 

721  Lady  Branksmere . 20 

735  A  Mental  Struggle . 20 

737  The  Haunted  Chamber . 10 

792  Her  Week’s  Amusement . 10 

802  Lady  Valworth's  Diamonds . 20 

1065  A  Modern  Circe . 20 

1072  The  Duchess . 20 

1136  Marvel . . .  20 

BY  LORD  DUFFERIN 

95  Letters  from  High  Latitudes . 20 

BY  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS 

761  Count  of  Monte  Cristo,  Part  1 . 20 

761  Count  of  Monte  Cristo,  Part  II . 20 

775  The  Three  Guardsmen . 20 

786  Twenty  Years  After . 20 

884  The  Son  of  Monte  Cristo,  Part  I. . .  .20 

884  The  Son  of  Monte  Cristo,  Part  II..  .20 

885  Monte  Cristo  and  His  Wife . 20 

891  Countess  of  Monte  Cristo,  Part  I. .  .20 
891  Countess  of  Monte  Cristo,  Part  II... 20 
998  Beau  Tancrede . 20 

BY  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS,  JR. 

992  Camille . 10 

Annette . . . 20 

BY  MOSTYN  DURWARD 

For  Better,  For  Worse . 20 

Sweet  as  a  Rose . 20 

AMELIA  B.  EDWARDS’  WORKS 

Barbara’s  History . 20 

Miss  Carew . 20 

My  Brother’s  Wife .  .20 

Hand  and  Glove . ! ! . !  !20 


a 


LOVELL’S  LIBRARY. 


BY  MRS.  ANNIE  EDWARDS 


681  A  Girton  Girl . 20 

Jet ;  Her  Face  or  Her  Fortune . 10 

A  Ballroom  Repentance . 20 

A  Point  of  Honor . 20 

Ought  We  to  Visit  Her . 20 

Leah  :  A  Woman  of  Fashion . ; .  20 

Archie  Lovell . 20 

A  Blue  Stocking . 10 

Susan  Fielding .  20 

A  Vagabond  Heroine . 10 

Philip  Earnscliffe . 20 

Vivian  the  Beauty . 10 

Steven  Lawrence . 20 

A  Playwright’s  Daughter .  10 

BY  GEORGE  ELIOT 

66  Adam  Bede,  2  Parts,  each . 15 

69  Amos  Barton . 10 

71  Silas  Marner . 10 

79  Romola,  2  Parts,  each . 15 

149  Janet’s  Repentance . 10 

151  Felix  Holt . 20 

174  Middlemarch,  2  Parts,  each . 20 

195  Daniel  Deronda,  2  Parts,  each . 20 

202  Theophrastus  Such . 10 

205  The  Spanish  Gypsy, and  other  Poems20 

207  The  Mill  on  the  Floss,  2  Parts,  each.  15 

208  Brother  Jacob,  etc . 10 

374  Essays,  and  Leaves  from  a  Note- 

Book .  20 

BY  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

373  Essays,  First  Series . 20 

1167  Essays,  Second  Series . 20 

EVA  EVERGREEN’S  WORKS 

Ten  Years  of  His  Life . 20 

Agatha . 20 

BY  KATE  EYRE 

A  Step  in  the  Dark . 20 

ENGLISH  MEN  OF  LETTERS. 
EDITED  BY  JOHN  MORLEY 

848  Bunyan,  by  J.  A.  Froude . 10 

407  Burke,  by  John  Morley .  10 

334  Burns,  by  Principal  Shairp . 10 

347  Byron,  by  Professor  Nichol . 10 

413  Chaucer,  by  Prof .  A.  W.  Ward . 10 

424  Cowper,  by  Gold  win  Smith . 10 

377  Defoe,  by  William  Minto . 10 

383  Gibbon,  by  J.  C.  Morrison . 10 

225  Goldsmith,  by  William  Black . 10 

369  Hume,  by  Professor  Huxley . 10 

401  Johnson,  by  Leslie  Stephen . 10 

3S0  Locke,  by  Thomas  Fowler . 10 

892  Milton,  by  Mark  Pattison . 10 

398  Pope,  by  Leslie  Stephen . 10 

364  Scott,  by  R.  H.  Hutton . 10 

361  Shelley,  by  J.  Symonds . 10 

404  Southey,  by  Professor  Dowden .  ...10 
431  Spenser,  by  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul’s.  .10 
344  Thackeray,  by  Anthony  Trollope.  ..10 


BY  OLIVE  P.  FAIRCHILD 

A  Struggle  for  Love . 

BY  HARRIET  FARLEY 

473  Christmas  Stories . 


BY  B.  L.  FARJEON 

243  Gautran ;  or,  House  of  White  Shad¬ 


ows . 20 

654  Love’s  Harvest . 20 

874  Nine  of  Hearts . 20 

The  Sacred  Nugget . 20 

Grif .  20 

Aunt  Parker . 20 

A  Secret  Inheritance . 20 

BY  J.  M.  FARRAR 

Life  of  Mary  Anderson . 10 

BY  F.  W.  FARRAR,  D.D. 

19  Seekers  after  God . 20 

50  Early  Days  of  Christianity,  2  Parts, 
each . 20 

BY  GEORGE  MANNVILLE  FENN 

1004  This  Man’s  Wife . 20 

1060  The  Bag  of  Diamonds . 20 

1129  The  Story  of  Antony  Grace . 20 

1132  One  Maid’s  Mischief . 20 

The  Dark  House . 10 

BY  OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

41  A  Marriage  in  High  Life . 20 

987  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man ....  10 
Led  Astray,  adapted  by  Helen  M. 
Lewis . 20 

GERALDINE  FLEMING’S  WORKS 

False . 20 

A  Sinless  Crime . 20 

Leola  Dale’s  Fortune . 20 

Who  Was  the  Heir  ? . 20 

Only  a  Girl’s  Love . 20 

Countess  Isabel  . 10 

How  He  Won  Her . 20 

Sunshine  and  Gloom . 20 

A  Sister’s  Sacrifice . 20 

A  Terrible  Secret . . 20 

Slaves  of  the  Ring ....  20 

Entraoped . 20 

$5,000  Reward . 20 

Wild  Margaret . 20 

LAURA  C.  FORD’S  WORKS 

Enemies  Born . 20 

Electra . 20 

For  Honor’s  Sake . 20 

Daisy  Darrell . 20 

BY  GERTRUDE  FORDE 

1162  Only  a  Coral  Girl . 20 

In  the  Old  Palazzo . 20 

BY  MRS.  FORRESTER 

760  Fair  Women . .  . .  20 

818  Once  Again . 20 

843  My  Lord  and  My  Lady . 20 

844  Dolores . 20 

850  My  Hero . .  . .  20 

859  Viva . 20 

860  Omnia  Vanitas . 10 

861  Diana  Carew . 20 

862  From  Olympus  to  Hades . . . 20 

863  Rhona . 20 

864  Roy  and  Viola . 20 

865  June . 20 

866  Mignon . 20 

867  A  Young  Man’s  Fancy . 20 


9 


lovell’s  library. 


BY  FBIEDRICH,  BARON  DE  LA 
MOTTE  FOUQUE 

711  Undine  . 10 

BY  THOMAS  FOWLER 

380  Life  of  Locke . 10 

BY  FRANCESCA 

177  The  Story  of  Ida. . 10 

BY  R.  E.  FRANCILLON 

319  A  Real  Queen . 20 

856  Golden  Bells . 10 

BY  ALBERT  FRANKLYN 

122  Ameline  de  Bourg . 15 

BY  L.  VIRGINIA  FRENCH 

485  My  Roses . 20 

BY  J.  A.  FROUDE 

348  Life  of  Bunyan . 10 

BY  EMILE  GABORIAU 

114  Monsieur  Lecoq,  2  Parts,  each . 20 

116  The  Lerouge  Case  . 20 

120  Other  People’s  Money. . . 20 

129  In  Peril  of  His  Life . 20 

138  The  Gilded  Clique . 20 

155  Mystery  of  Orcival  . 20 

101  Promise  of  Marriage . ......  .HO 

258  File  No.  113 . ...20 

1119  The  Little  Old  Man  of  the  Bati- 

gnolles . 20 

1123  The  Count’s  Millions,  Part  I . *  *20 

“  “  “  Part  II . 20 

1152  The  Slaves  of  Paris,  Part  I.  20 

“  “  “  Part  II . 20 

BY  HENRY  GEORGE 

52  Progress  and  Poverty . 20 

390  Land  Question . 10 

393  Social  Problems . 20 

796  Property  in  Land . 15 

BY  CHARLES  GIBBON 

57  The  Golden  Shaft . 20 

Amoret .  on 


BY  IDA  LINN  GIRARD 

A  Dangerous  Game ...  . 10 

BY  NIKOLAI  V.  GOGOL 

1016  Taras  Bulba . .'....20 

.  BY  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH 

51  V icar  of  W akefield . . . 10 

362  Plays  and  Poems . 20 

BY  MRS.  GORE 

89  The  Dean’s  Daughter . 20 

BY  MISS  GRANT 

The  Sun  Maid . 20 

BY  JAMES  GRANT 

49  The  Secret  Despatch . 20 

ANNABEL  GRAY’S  WORKS 

What  Love  Will  Do . 10 

Terribly  Tempted . 10 

EVELYN  GRAY’S  WORKS 

A  Woman’s  Fault . 20 

As  Fate  Would  Have  It . 20 

BY  HENRI  GREVILLE 

1C01  Frankley . 20 

BY  HENRY  GREVILLE 

Wild  Oats . 20 

BY  MRS.  GREY 

The  Flirt . 20 

BY  CECIL  GRIFFITH 

732  Victory  Deane . 20 

BY  ARTHUR  GRIFFITHS 

709  No.  99 . io 

THE  BROTHERS  GRIMM 

221  Fairy  Tales,  Illustrated . 20 

BY  LAURENCE  GRONLUND 

1096  The  Co-operative  Commonwealth.  .30 


ANNIE  A.  GIBBS’  WORKS 


Irene .  20 

The  Waif  of  the  Storm . 20 

The  Forced  Marriage . 20 

A  Blighted  Life . !  1  .  20 

A  Cruel  Woman .  20 

Her  Father’s  Sin . 20 

BY  THEODORE  GIFT 

Pretty  Miss  Bellew . 20 


BY  W.  S.  GILBERT 

The  Mikado  and  other  Operas . 20 


BY  WENONA  GILMAN 

9ui . 20 

Stella,  the  Star  .  20 

“  General  Utility  ” . ....!..  20 


by  J.  w.  VON  GOETHE 

342  Goethe's  Faust .  20 

343  Goethe’s  Poem  s .  *’  20 

1088  Wilhelm  Meister’s  Apprenticeship, 

2  Parts,  each .  20 

3090  Wilhelm  Meister’s  Travels  . 20 


BY  GUINEVERE 

Little  Jewell . 20 

BY  LIEUT.  J,  W.  GUNNISON 

440  History  of  the  Mormons . 15 

BY  F.  W.  HACKLANDER 

606  Forbidden  Fruit . 20 

BY  ERNST  HAECKEL 

97  India  and  Ceylon . 20 


BY  H.  RIDER  HAGGARD 

813  King  Solomon’s  Mines  .  .  20 

848  She . Y.'.V'w 

876  The  Witch’s  Head .  20 

900  Jess .  on 

941  Dawn . ’ . 20 

1020  Allan  Quatermain . ’*20 

1100  Tale  of  Three  Lions .  10 

BY  A.  EGMONT  HAKE 

371  The  Story  of  Chinese  Gordon . .20 

BY  LUDOVIC  HALEVY 

15  L’Abbe  Constantin . 20 


10 


lovell’s  library 


WORKS  BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 
“HE,”  “IT,”  ETC. 


“  He,”  a  companion  to  “  She  ” . 20 

“It” . 20 

“Pa” . 20 

“Ma” . 20 

King  Solomon’s  Wives . 20 

King  Solomon's  Treasures . 20 

“Bess,”  a  companion  to  “  Jess”. . .  .20 

MARY  GRACE  HALPINE’S  WORKS 

A  Girl  Hero . 20 

A  Letter . 20 

Discarded . 20 

A  Strange  Betrothal . 20 

His  Brother's  Widow .  . .  20 

A  Wife’s  Crime : . 20 

The  Young  School-Teacher . 20 

A  Great  Divorce  Case .  20 

A  Curious  Disappearance . 20 

The  Divorced  Wife . 20 

Blind  Elsie’s  Crime . 20 

Wronged . 20 


BY  GEORGE  HALSE 

Weeping  Ferry . 20 

BY  THOMAS  HARDY 

43  Two  on  a  Tower . 20 

157  Romantic  Adventures  of  a  Milk¬ 
maid . 10 

749  The  Mayor  of  Casterbridge . 20 

956  The  Woodlanders . 20 

964  Far  from  the  Madding  Crowd . 20 


BY  MARION  HARLAND 

107  Housekeeping  and  Homemaking...  .15 

BY  JOHN  HARRISON  AND  M. 


COMPTON 

414  Over  the  Summer  Sea . 20 

BY  J.  B.  HARWOOD 

269  One  False,  both  Fair . 20 

BY  JOSEPH  HATTON 

7  Clytie . 20 

137  Cruel  London . 20 

1147  The  Abbey  Murder . 20 

The  Great  World . 20 

BY  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

370  Twice  Told  Tales . 20 

376  Grandfather's  Chair . 20 

BY  MARY  CECIL  HAY 

466  Under  the  Will . 10 

566  The  Arundel  Motto . 20 

590  Old  Myddleton’s  Money . 20 

787  A  Wicked  Girl .  10 

971  Nora’s  Love  Test . 20 

972  The  Squire’s  Legacy . 20 

973  Dorothy’s  Venture . 20 

974  My  First  Offer . 10 

975  Back  to  the  Old  Home . 10 

976  For  Her  Dear  Sake . 20 

977  Hidden  Perils . 20 

978  Victor  and  Vanquished . 20 

1029  Brenda  Yorke . 10 

BY  MRS.  FELICIA  HEMANS 

583  Poems . ._ . 30 


BY  DAVID  J.  HILL,  LL.D. 

533  Principles  and  Fallacies  of  Social¬ 


ism . 15 

BY  M.  L.  HOLBROOK,  M.D. 

356  Hygiene  of  the  Brain . 25 

MRS.  CASHEL  HOEY’S  WORKS 

The  Lover’s  Creed . 20 

A  Stern  Chase . 20 

MRS.  H.  C.  HOFFMAN’S  WORKS 

A  Treacherous  Woman . 20 

Married  by  the  Mayor . 20 

A  Harvest  of  Thorns . 20 

Laughing  Eyes . 20 

Married  at  Midnight . 20 

Lost  to  the  World . 20 

Love  Conquers  Pride . 20 

A  Miserable  Woman . 20 

A  Sister’s  Vengeance . 20 

Leah’s  Mistake . 20 

A  Tom-Boy . 20 

Broken  Vows . 20 

BY  MRS.  M.  A.  HOLMES 

709  Woman  against  Woman . 20 

743  A  Woman’s  Vengeance . 20 

BY  PAXTON  HOOD 

73  Life  of  Cromwell . 15 

BY  THOMAS  HOOD 

511  Poems . 30 

BY  TIGHE  HOPKINS 

’Twixt  Love  and  Duty . 20 

BY  ARABELLA  M.  HOPKINSON 

Life’s  Fitful  Fever . 20 

WORKS  BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 
“  HIS  WEDDED  WIFE  ” 

His  Wedded  Wife . 20 

A  Great  Mistake . 20 

A  Fatal  Dower . 20 

Barbara . 20 

BY  HORRY  AND  WEEMS 

36  Life  of  Marion . . .  . 20 

BY  ROBERT  HOUDIN 

14  The  Tricks  of  the  Greeks  . 20 

BY  ADAH  M.  HOWARD 

970  Against  Her  Will . . . . 20 

993  The  Child  Wife . 10 

A  Woman’s  Atonement . 20 

Irene  Gray’s  Legacy . 20 

Sundered  Hearts . 20 

Doubly  Wronged . 20 

Uncle  Ned’s  Cabin . 20 

A  Blighted  Home . 10 

A  Mother’s  Mistake . 20 

A  Haunted  Life . 20 

A  Desperate  Woman . 20 

Little  Nana . 20 

By  Mutual  Consent . 20 

Little  Madeline . 20 

Little  Sunshine . 20 

BY  MARIE  HOWLAND 

534  Papa’s  Own  Girl . 30 


11 


LOVELL’ S  LIBRARY. 


BY  EDWARD  HOWLAND 


742  Social  Solutions,  Part  I  . 10 

747  “  “  Part  II . 10 

753  “  “  Part  III . 10 

762  “  “  PartlV . 10 

765  “  “  PartV . 10 

774  “  “  Part  VI  . .  . . 10 

778  “  “  Part  VII . 10 

782  “  “  Part  VIII  ........10 

785  “  T“  Part  IX . 10 

788  “  “  Part  X . 10 

791  “  “  Part  XI  . 10 

795  “  “  Part  XII . 10 

BY  JOHN  W.  HOYT,  LL.D. 

535  Studies  in  Civil  Service . 15 

BY  THOMAS  HUGHES 

61  Tom  Brown’s  School  Days . 20 

186  Tom  Brown  at  Oxford,  2  Parts, each.  15 

BY  VICTOR  HUGO 

784  Les  Miserables,  Part  1 . 20 

784  “  “  Part  II  . 20 

784  “  “  Part  III . 20 

BY  STANLEY  HUNTLEY 

109  The  Spoopepdylte  Papers . 20 

BY  R/H.  HUTTON 

364  Life  of  Scott . 20 

BY  PROF.  HUXLEY 

369  Life  of  Hume . 10 

BY  COL.  PRENTISS  INGRAHAM 

The  Rival  Cousins . 20 

BY  WASHINGTON  IRVING 

147  The  Sketch  Book . 20 

198  Tales  of  a  Traveller . 20 

199  Life  and  Voyages  of  Columbus, 

Part  1 . 20 

Life  and  Voyages  of  Columbus, 

Part  II . 20 

224  Abbotsford  and  Newstead  Abbey . .  .10 
236  Knickerbocker  History  of  New  York.  20 

249  The  Crayon  Papers . 20 

263  The  Alhambra . 15 

272  Conquest  of  Granada . 20 

279  Conquest  of  Spain . 10 

281  Bracebridge  Hall . 20 

290  Salmagundi. . . 20 

299  Astoria .  20 

301  Spanish  Voyages . 20 

305  A  Tour  on  the  Prairies . 10 

308  Life  of  Mahomet,  2  Parts,  each  ....  15 

310  Oliver  Goldsmith . 20 

311  Captain  Bonneville . 20 

314  Moorish  Chronicles . . . 10 

321  Wolf  erf  s  Roost  and  Miscellanies ....  10 

G.  P.  R.  JAMES’  WORKS 

Agnes  Sorel . 20 

Darnley .  . . .  20 

BY  HARRIET  JAY 

17  The  Dark  Colleen . 20 

BY  EDWARD  JENKINS 

The  Secret  of  Her  Life . 20 

BY  EVELYN  K.  JOHNSON 

Tangles  Unraveled . 20 


BY  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

44  Rasselas . . . 10 

BY  MAURICE  JOKAI 

754  A  Modern  Midas . 20 

BY  MRS.  EMMA  GARRISON  JONES 

A  Terrible  Crime . 20 

BY  JOHN  KEATS 

531  Poems .  25 

BY  EDWARD  KELLOGG 

111  Labor  and  Capital . 20 

BY  GRACE  KENNEDY 

106  Dunallan,  2  Parts,  each . 15 

BY  JOHN  P.  KENNEDY 

67  Horse-Shoe  Robinson,  2  Parts,  each  .15 

BY  CHARLES  KINGSLEY 

39  The  Hermits . 20 

64  Hypatia,  2  Parts,  each _  i . 15 

BY  HENRY  KINGSLEY 

726  Austin  Eliot . 20 

728  The  Hillyars  and  Burtons . 20 

731  Leighton  Court . 20 

736  Geoffrey  Hamlyn  . 30 

BY  W.  H.  G.  KINGSTON 

254  Peter  the  Whaler . 20 

322  Mark  Seaworth . 20 

324  Round  the  World . 20 

335  The  Young  Foresters . 20 

I  337  Salt  Water . 20 

1  633  The  Midshipman . 20 

BY  F.  KIRBY 

454  The  Golden  Dog  (Le  chien  cl'or) _ 40 

BY  ANDREW  LANG 

The  Mark  of  Cain . 10 

BY  A.  LA  POINTE 

445  The  Rival  Doctors . 20 

BY  MISS  MARGARET  LEE 

25  Divorce . . . 20 

600  A  Brighton  Night . 20 

725  Dr.  Wilmer’s  Love . — 25 

741  Lorimer  and  Wife . 20 

BY  VERNON  LEE 

797  A  Phantom  Lover .  10 

798  Prince  of  the  Hundred  Soups . 10 

BY  MRS.  LEITH- ADAMS 

Aunt  Hepsy’s  Foundling . 20 

BY  JULES  LERMINA 

469  The  Chase . 20 

BY  CHARLES  LEVER 

327  Harry  Lorrequer . 20 

789  Charles  O’Malley,  2  Parts,  each . 20 

794  Tom  Burke  of  Ours,  2  Parts,  each.  .20 

BY  LAURA  JEAN  LIBBEY 

A  Fatal  Wooing . 20 

BY  MARY  LINSKILL 

A  Lost  Son . .10 


li 


LGVELI/S  LIBRARY 


BY  H.  W.  LONGFELLOW 


1  Hyperion . 20 

2  Outre-Mer . 20 

482  Poems . 20 

BY  SAMUEL  LOVER 

163  The  Happy  Man . 10 

719  Rory  O’More . 20 

849  Handy  Andy . 20 


BY  COMMANDER  LOVETT-CAM- 
ERON. 

817  The  Cruise  of  the  Black  Prince.  . .  .20 

BY  MRS.  H.  LOVETT-CAMERON 


927  Pure  Gold . 20 

BY  SIR  JOHN  LUBBOCK 

1164  The  Pleasures  of  Life . 20 

BY  HENRY  W.  LUCY 

96  Gideon  Fleyce . 20 

BY  HENRY  C.  LUKENS 

131  Jets  and  Flashes . 20 

BY  EDNA  LYALL 

962  Knights-Errant .  20 

BY  E.  LYNN  LYNTON 

276  lone  Stewart . 20 

BY  LORD  LYTTON 

11  The  Coming  Race . 10 

12  Leila . 10 

31  Ernest  Maltravers . 20 

32  The  Haunted  House. . 10 

45  Alice :  A  Sequel  to  Ernest  Maltra¬ 
vers  . 20 

56  A  Strange  Story . 20 

69  Last  Days  of  Pompeii . 20 

81  Zanoni . 20 

84  Night  and  Morning,  2  Parts,  each.  .15 

117  Paul  Clifford . 20 

121  Lady  of  Lyons . 10 

128  Money . 10 

162  Richelieu . 10 

160  Rienzi,  2  Parts,  each . 15 

176  Pelham . 20 

204  Eugene  Aram . 20 

222  The  Disowned . 20 

240  Kenelm  Chillingly . . . 20 

246  What  Will  He  Do  with  It  ?  2  Parts, 

each . 20 

247  Devereux . 20 

250  The  Caxtons,  2  Parts,  each . 15 

263  Lucretia . 20 

265  Last  of  the  Barons,  2  Parts,  each  ...  15 

259  The  Parisians,  2  Parts,  each . 20 

271  My  Novel,  3  Parts,  each . 20 

276  Harold,  2  Parts,  each . 15 

289  Godolphin . 20 

294  Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine . 15 

317  Pausanias . 15 

BY  LORD  MACAULAY 

833  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome . 20 

BY  CHARLES  MACKAY 

1137  The  Twin  Soul . 20 

BY  KATHERINE  S.  MACQU  DID 

898  Joan  Wentworth . 20 

Marjorie . 20 


BY  J.  F.  MALLOY 

1139  A  Modern  Magician . 20 

BY  E.  MARLITT 

771  The  Old  Mam’selle’s  Secret . 20 

1053  Gold  Elsie . 20 

BY  G.  MARNELL 

Merit  versus  Money . 20 

BY  CAPTAIN  MARRYAT 

212  The  Privateersman . 20 

BY  FLORENCE  MARRYAT. 

903  The  Master  Passion . 20 

904  A  Lucky  Disappointment . .  10 

905  Her  Lord  and  Master . 20 

906  My  Own  Child . 20 

907  No  Intentions . 20 

908  Written  in  Fire . 20 

909  A  Little  Stepson . 10 

910  With  Cupid’s  Eyes . 20 

931  Why  Not? . 20 

937  My  Sister  the  Actress . 20 

938  Captain  Norton’s  Diary . . .  10 

939  Girls  of  Feversham  . 20 

940  The  Root  of  all  Evil . 20 

942  Facing  the  Footlights . 20 

943  Petronel . 20 

944  A  Star  and  a  Heart .  .  .10 

945  Ange . '. . 20 

946  A  Harvest  of  Wild  Oats . 20 

947  The  Poison  of  Asps .  . . 10 

948  Fair-Haired  Alda . 20 

949  The  Heir  Presumptive . 20 

950  Under  the  Lilies  and  Roses . 20 

951  Heart  of  Jane  Warner . 20 

952  Love’s  Conflict,  Part  I . .20 

952  Love’s  Conflict,  Part  II . 20 

953  Phyllida . 20 

954  Out  of  His  Reckoning . 10 

979  Her  World  against  a  Lie . 20 

990  Open  Sesame . 20 

991  Mad  Dumaresq . 20 

999  Fighting  the  Air  . 20 

Peeress  and  Player . 20 

Driven  to  Bay  . . 20 


The  Confessions  of  Gerald  Estcourt..20 

BY  C.  MARTIN 

The  Russians  at  the  Gates  of  Herat.. 10 

BY  MRS.  HERBERT  MARTIN 


For  a  Dream’s  Sake .  20 

Amor  Vinci t . 20 

BY  HARRIET  MARTINEAU 

353  Tales  of  the  French  Revolution . 15 

354  Loom  and  Lugger . 20 

357  Berkeley  the  Banker . 20 

358  Homes  Abroad . 15 

363  For  Each  and  For  All . 15 

372  Hill  and  Valley  . 15 

379  The  Charmed  Sea . 15 

388  Life  in  the  Wilds . 15 

395  Sowers  not  Reapers . 15 

400  Glen  of  the  Echoes . 15 

OWEN  MARSTON’S  WORKS 

Beauty’s  Marriage . 20 

A  Dark  Marriage  Morn . 20 

Lover  and  Husband . 20 


LOVELL’S  LIBRARY. 


BY  HELEN  MATHERS 

165  Eyre’s  Acquittal . 10 

1046  Cornin’  Thro’  the  Rye .  . 20 

1047  Sam’s  Sweetheart . 20 

1048  Story  of  a  Sin . 20 

1049  Cherry  Ripe . 20 

1050  My  Lady  Green  Sleeves . 20 

Found  Out . 20 

BY  A.  MATHEY 

46  DukeofKandos . 20 

60  The  Two  Duchesses  . 20 

BY  W.  S.  MAYO 

70  The  Berber . 20 

BY  C.  MAXWELL 

A  Story  of  Three  Sisters . 20 

by  louise  McCarthy 

Gabrielle . 20 

by  j.  h.  McCarthy 

115  An  Outline  of  Irish  History . 10 

by  justin  McCarthy,  m.p. 

278  Maid  of  Athens . 20 

BY  T.  L.  MEADE 

328  How  It  All  Came  Round . 20 

BY  OWEN  MEREDITH 

331  Lucile . 20 

BY  PAUL  MERRITT 

Daughters  of  Eve . .20 

MRS.  ALEX.  McVEIOH  MILLER’S 
WORKS 

A  Dreadful  Temptation . 20 

The  Bride  of  the  Tomb . 20 

An  Old  Man’s  Darling .  20 

Queenie’s  Terrible  Secret . 20 

J  aquelina . 20 

Little  Golden’s  Daughter . 20 

The  Rose  and  the  Lily . 20 

Countess  Yera . 20 

Bonnie  Dora . 20 

Guy  Kenmore’s  Wife . 20 

BY  JOHN  MILTON 

389  Paradise  Lost . 20 

1092  Poems . *  ’  ’  ’  ^35 

BY  WILLIAM  MINTO 

377  Life  of  Defoe . 10 

The  Crack  of  Doom . "  .20 


BY  MRS.  MOLESWORTH 

1008  Marrying  and  Giving  in  Marriage  .  .10 

BY  SUSANNA  MOODIE 

1067  Geoffrey  Moncton . 30 

1068  Flora  Lyndsay . . . 20 

1074  Roughing  it  in  the  Bush. .20 

1076  Life  in  the  Backwoods. . . 20 

1085  Life  in  the  Clearings . 20 

BY  THOMAS  MOORE 

416  Lalla  Rookh .  20 

487  Poems . ............ . 40 

BY  JOHN  MORLEY 

407  Life  of  Burke .  10 

14 


BY  J.  C.  MORRISON 

383  Life  of  Gibbon . 10 

BY  EDWARD  H.  MOTT 

139  Pike  County  Folks  . 20 

BY  ALAN  MUIR 

312  Golden  Girls . 20 

BY  LOUISA  MUHLBACH 

1000  Frederick  the  Great  and  his  Court.  .30 

1014  The  Daughter  of  an  Empress . 30 

1054  Goethe  and  Schiller . 30 

1091  Queen  Hortense . 30 

BY  MAX  MULLER 

130  India :  What  Can  It  Teach  Us  ? ....  20 

BY  MISS  MULOCK 

33  John  Halifax  . 20 

435  Miss  Tommy . 15 

751  King  Arthur . 20 

Young  Mrs.  Jardine . 20 

Two  Marriages . 20 

BY  DAVID  CHRISTIE  MURRAY 

197  By  the  Gate  of  the  Sea . 15 

758  Cynic  Fortune . 10 

1116  One  Traveller  Returns . 20 

The  Way  of  the  World . 20 

Rainbow  Gold . 20 

First  Person  Singular . 20 

Hearts . 20 

A  Life’s  Atonement . 20 

Val  Strange . 20 

Aunt  Rachel . ..10 

BY  F.  MYERS 

410  Life  of  Wordsworth . 10 


BY  FLORENCE  NEELY 

564  Hand-Book  for  the  Kitchen . 20 

BY  REV.  R.  H.  NEWTON 

83  Right  and  Wrong  Uses  of  the  Bible.  .20 


BY  JOHN  NICHOL 

347  Life  of  Byron . 10 

BY  JAMES  R.  NICHOLS,  M.D. 

375  Science  at  Home . 20 

BY  MILTON  NOBLES 

The  Phoenix . 20 

BY  W.  E.  NORRIS 

108  No  New  Thing . 20 

592  That  Terrible  Man . 10 

779  My  Friend  Jim . 10 

BY  CHRISTOPHER  NORTH 

439  N  octes  Ambrosiance . 30 

BY  F.  E.  M.  NOTLEY 

1095  From  the  Other  Side  . 20 

BY  WM.  O’BRIEN 

O’Hara’s  Mission . 20 

BY  NANNIE  P.  O’DONOGHUE 

Unfairly  Won . 20 

BY  ALICE  O’HANLON 

A  Diamond  in  the  Rough . 20 


Legacy  of  Cain 


WILKIE  COLLINS 

AUTHOR  OF  “THE  WOMAN  IN  WHITE,”  “THE  EVIL  GENIUS,”  ETC,,  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY 

14  and  16  Vesey  Street 


LOVELL  LIBRARY  ADVERTISER . 


Three  Wonderful  Sewing  Machines 


the  new  singer 

OSCILLATOR 

“Scientifically  and  Mechanically  Perfect.” 


OFFICES  EVERYWHERE.  PERFECTION  GUARANTEED. 


- THE - 

SINGER  MANUFACTURING  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 

'Makers  of  Eight  Million  Machines.) 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


FIRST  PERIOD :  1858-1859. 

EVENTS  IN  THE  PRISON,  RELATED  BV  THE  GOVERNOR. 


CHAPTER  I. 


At  the  request  of  a  person  who  has  claims  on  me  that  I 
must  not  disown,  I  consent  to  look  back  through  a  long  in¬ 
terval  of  years  and  to  describe  events  which  took  place 
within  the  walls  of  an  English  prison  during  the  earlier 
period  of  my  appointment  as  governor. 

Viewing  my  task  by  the  light  which  later  experience 
casts  on  it,  I  think  I  shall  act  wisely  by  exercising  some 
control  over  the  freedom  of  my  pen. 

I  propose  to  pass  over  in  silence  the  name  of  the  town 
in  which  is  situated  the  prison  once  confided  to  my  care. 
I  shall  observe  a  similar  discretion  in  alluding  to  individu¬ 
als — some  dead,  some  living  at  the  present  time. 

.  Being  obliged  to  write  of  a  woman  who  deservedly  suf¬ 
fered  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law,  I  think  she  will  be 
sufficiently  identified  if  I  call  her  the  Prisoner.  Of  the  four 
persons  present  on  the  evening  before  her  execution,  three 
may  be  distinguished  one  from  the  other  by  allusion  to 
their  vocations  in  life.  I  here  introduce  them  as  the  Chap¬ 
lain,  the  Minister,  and  the  Doctor.  The  fourth  was  a  young 
woman.  She  has  no  claim  on  my  consideration  ;  and, 
when  she  is  mentioned,  her  name  may  appear.  If  these 
reserves  excite  suspicion,  I  declare  beforehand  that  they 
influence  in  no  way  whatever  the  sense  of  responsibility 
which  commands  an  honest  man  to  speak  the  truth. 


A\ 


5908F.9 


4 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, 


CHAPTER  II. 


The  first  of  the  events  which  I  must  now  relate  was  the 
conviction  of  the  Prisoner  for  the  murder  of  her  husband. 

They  had  lived  together  in  matrimony  for  a  little  more 
than  a  year.  The  husband,  a  gentleman  by  birth  and  edu¬ 
cation,  had  mortally  offended  his  relations  by  marrying  a 
woman  in  an  inferior  rank  of  life.  He  was  fast  declining 
into  a  state  of  poverty,  through  his  own  reckless  extrava¬ 
gance,  at  the  time  when  he  met  his  death  at  his  wife’s  hand. 

Without  attempting  to  excuse  him,  he  deserved,  to  my 
mind,  some  tribute  of  regret.  It  is  not  to  be  denied  that 
he  was  profligate  in  his  habits  and  violent  in  his  temper. 
But  it  is  equally  true  that  he  was  affectionate  in  the  do¬ 
mestic  circle,  and,  when  moved  by  wisely  applied  remon¬ 
strance,  sincerely  penitent  for  sins  committed  under  temp¬ 
tation  that  overpowered  him.  If  his  wife  had  killed  him 
in  a  fit  of  jealous  rage — under  provocation,  be  it  remem¬ 
bered,  which  the  witnesses  proved — she  might  have  been 
convicted  of  manslaughter,  and  might  have  received  alight 
sentence.  But  the  evidence  so  undeniably  revealed  deliber¬ 
ate  and  merciless  premeditation,  that  the  only  defence  at¬ 
tempted  by  her  counsel  was  madness,  and  the  only  al¬ 
ternative  left  to  a  righteous  jury  was  a  verdict  which  con¬ 
demned  the  woman  to  death.  Those  mischievous  mem¬ 
bers  of  the  community,  whose  topsy-turvy  sympathies  feel 
for  the  living  criminal  and  forget  the  dead  victim,  at¬ 
tempted  to  save  her  life  by  means  of  high-flown  petitions 
and  contemptible  correspondence  in  the  newspapers.  But 
the  judge  held  firm  ;  and  the  Home  Secretary  held  firm. 
They  were  entirely  right,  and  the  public  was  scandalously 
wrong. 

Our  Chaplain  endeavored  to  offer  the  consolations  of 
religion  to  the  condemned  wretch.  She  refused  to  accept 
his  ministrations  in  language  which  filled  him  with  grief 
and  horror. 

On  the  evening  before  the  execution,  the  reverend  gen¬ 
tleman  laid  on  my  table  his  own  written  report  of  a  con¬ 
versation  which  had  passed  between  the  Prisoner  and 
himself. 


“  I  .see  some  hope,  sir,”  he  said,  “of  inclining  the  heart 
of  this  woman  to  religious  belief,  before  it  is  too  late. 
Will  you  read  my  report,  and  say  if  you  agree  with  me  ?” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


5 


I  read  it,  of  course.  It  was  called  “A  Memorandum,” 
and  was  thus  written  : 

“At  his  last  interview  with  the  Prisoner,  the  Chaplain 
asked  her  if  she  had  ever  entered  a  place  of  public  wor¬ 
ship.  She  replied  that  she  had  occasionally  been  one  of 
the  congregation  at  a  Methodist  chapel  in  this  town,  at¬ 
tracted  by  the  reputation  of  the  preacher.  ‘  He  entirely 
failed  to  make  a  Christian  of  me,’  she  said  ;  ‘  but  I  was 
struck  by  his  eloquence.  Besides,  he  interested  me  per¬ 
sonally — he  was  a  fine  man.’ 

“  In  the  dreadful  situation  in  which  the  woman  was 
placed,  such  language  as  this  shocked  the  Chaplain  ;  he 
appealed  in  vain  to  the  Prisoner’s  sense  of  propriety. 
‘  You-  don’t  understand  women,’  she  answered.  ‘The 
greatest  saint  of  my  sex  that  ever  lived,  likes  to  look  at  a 
preacher  as  well  as  to  hear  him.  If  he  is  an  agreeable 
man,  he  has  all  the  greater  effect  on  her.  This  preacher’s 
voice  told  me  he  was  kind  hearte^l,  and  I  had  only  to  look 
at  his  beautiful  eyes  to  see  that  he  was  trustworthy  and 
true.’ 

“  It  was  useless  to  repeat  a  protest  which  had  already 
failed.  Recklessly  and  flippantly  as  she  had  described  it, 
an  impression  had  been  produced  on  her.  It  occurred 
to  the  Chaplain  that  he  might  at  least  make  the  attempt 
to  turn  this  result  to  her  own  religious  advantage.  He 
asked  whether  she  would  receive  the  Minister,  if  the  rev¬ 
erend  gentleman  came  to  the  prison.  ‘That  will  depend,’ 
she  said,  ‘  on  whether  you  answer  some  questions  which  I 
want  to  put  to  you  first.’  The  Chaplain  consented,  pro¬ 
vided  always  that  he  could  reply  with  propriety  to  what 
she  asked  of  him.  Her  first  question  only  related  to  him¬ 
self. 

“  She  said  :  ‘  The  women  who  watch  me  tell  me  that 
you  are  a  widower,  and  have  a  family  of  children.  Is  that 
true  ?  ’ 

“The  Chaplain  answered  that  it  was  quite  true. 

“  She  asked  next  if  the  Chaplain  and  the  Methodist 
preacher  were  acquainted  with  each  other. 

“  The  Chaplain  informed  her  that  they  had  been  friends 
for  some  years.  On  hearing  this  she  seemed  to  gather 
confidence.  Her  next  inquiries  succeeded  each  other 
rapidly,  as  follows  : 

“  ‘  Is  my  handsome  preacher  married  ?’ 

“‘Yes.’ 

“  ‘  Has  he  got  any  children  ?  ’ 


6 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


“  ‘  He  has  never  had  any  children.’ 

“  ‘  How  long  has  he  been  married  ?  ’ 

“‘As  well  as  I  know,  about  seven  or  eight  years.’ 

“  ‘  What  sort  of  woman  is  his  wife  ?  ’ 

“  ‘A  lady  universally  respected.’ 

“  ‘  I  don’t  care  whether  she  is  respected  or  not.  Is  she 
kind?’ 

“  ‘  Certainly.” 

“  ‘  Is  her  husband  well  off  ?  ’ 

“  ‘  He  has  a  sufficient  income.’ 

“After  that  reply  the  Prisoner’s  curiosityappeared  to 
be  satisfied.  She  said,  ‘  Bring  your  friend  the  preacher  to 
me,  if  you  like  ’ — and  there  it  ended. 

“  What  her  object  could  have  been  in  putting  these  ques¬ 
tions,  it  seems  to  be  impossible  to  guess.  Having  accu¬ 
rately  reported  all  that  took  place,  the  Chaplain  declares, 
with  heartfelt  regret,  that  he  can  exert  no  religious  influ¬ 
ence  over  this  obdurate. woman.  He  leaves  it  to  the  gov¬ 
ernor  to  decide  whether  the  Minister  of  the  Methodist 
chapel  may  not  succeed  where  the  Chaplain  of  the  Gaol 
has  failed.  Herein  is  the  one  last  hope  of  saving  the  soul 
of  the  Prisoner,  now  under  sentence  of  death.” 

In  those  serious  words  the  memorandum  ended. 

Although  not  personally  acquainted  with  the  Minister, 
I  had  heard  of  him,  on  all  sides,  as  an  excellent  man.  In 
the  emergency  that  confronted  us  he  had,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  his  own  sacred  right  to  enter  the  prison  ;  assuming 
that  he  was  willing  to  accept,  what  I  myself  felt  to  be,  a 
very  serious  responsibility.  The  first  necessity  was  to  dis¬ 
cover  whether  we  might  hope  to  obtain  his  services.  With 
my  full  approval  the  Chaplain  left  me,  to  state  the  circum¬ 
stances  to  his  reverend  colleague. 


CHAPTER  III. 

During  my  friend’s  absence  my  attention  was  claimed 
by  a  sad  incident — not  unforeseen. 

It  is,  I  suppose,  generally  known  that  near  relatives  are 
admitted  to  take  their  leave  of  criminals  condemned  to 
death.  In  the  case  of  the  Prisoner  now  waiting  for  exe¬ 
cution,  no  person  applied  to  the  authorities  for  permission 
to  see  her.  I  myself  inquired  if  she  had  any  relations  liv¬ 
ing,  and  if  she  would  like  to  see  them.  She  answered : 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, \ 


7 


“  None  that  I  care  to  see,  or  that  care  to  see  me — except 
the  nearest  relation  of  all.” 

In  those  last  words  the  miserable  creature  alluded  to  her 
only  child,  a  little  girl  (an  infant,  I  should  say),  who  had 
passed  her  first  year’s  birthday  by  a  few  months.  The 
farewell  interview  was  to  take  place  on  the  mother’s  last 
evening  on  earth  ;  and  the  child  was  now  brought  into  my 
rooms,  in  charge  of  her  nurse. 

I  had  seldom  seen  a  brighter  or  prettier  little  girl.  She 
was  just  able  to  walk  alone,  and  to  enjoy  the  first  delight 
of  moving  from  one  place  to  another.  Quite  of  her  own 
accord  she  came  to  me,  attracted  I  dare  say  by  the  glitter 
of  my  watch-chain.  Helping  her  to  climb  on  my  knee,  I 
showed  the  wonders  of  the  watch,  and  held  it  to  her  ear. 
At  that  past  time,  death  had  taken  my  good  wife  from  me  ; 
my  two  boys  were  away  at  Harrow  school ;  my  domestic 
life  was  the  life  of  a  lonely  man.  Whether  I  was  reminded 
of  the  bygone  days  when  my  sons  were  infants  on  my  knee, 
listening  to  the  ticking  of  my  watch — or  whether  the  friend¬ 
less  position  of  the  poor  little  creature  who  had  lost  one 
parent  and  was  soon  to  lose  the  other  by  a  violent  death, 
moved  me  in  depths  of  pity  not  easily  reached  in  my  later 
experience — I  am  not  able  to  say.  This  only  I  know  : 
My  heart  ached  for  the  child  while  she  was  laughing  and 
listening  ;  and  something  fell  from  me  on  the  watch  which 
I  don’t  deny  might  have  been  a  tear.  A  few  of  the  toys, 
mostly  broken  now,  which  my  two  children  used  to  play 
with  are  still  in  my  possession  ;  kept,  like  my  poor  wdfe’s 
favorite  .jewels,  for  old  remembrance  sake.  These  I  took 
from  their  repository  when  the  attraction  of  my  watch 
showed  signs  of  failing.  The  child  pounced  on  them  with 
her  chubby  hands,  and  screamed  with  pleasure.  And  the 
hangman  was  waiting  for  her  mother — and  more  horrid 
still,  the  mother  deserved  it ! 

My  duty  required  me  to  let  the  Prisoner  know  that  her 
little  daughter  had  arrived.  Did  that  heart  of  iron  melt 
at  last  ?  It  might  have  been  so,  or  it  might  not  ;  the  mes¬ 
sage  sent  back  kept  her  secret.  All  that  it  said  to  me 
was  :  “  Let  the  child  wait  till  I  send  for  her.” 

The  Minister  had  consented  to  help  us ;  I  received 
him  in  another  room.  Having  introduced  his  companion 
to  me,  the  Chaplain  considerately  withdrew. 

I  had  only  to  look  at  the  Minister’s  face — pitiably  pale 
and  agitated — to  see  that  he  was  a  sensitive  man,  not  always 
able  to  control  his  nerves  on  occasions  which  tried  his 


8 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


moral  courage.  A  kind,  I  might  almost  say  a  noble  face, 
and  a  voice  unaffectedly  persuasive,  at  once  prepossessed 
me  in  his  favor.  The  few  words  of  welcome  that  I  spoke 
were  intended  to  compose  him.  They  failed  to  produce 
the  impression  on  which  I  had  counted. 

“  My  experience,”  he  said,  “  has  included  many  melan¬ 
choly  duties,  and  has  tried  my  composure  in  many  terri¬ 
ble  scenes  ;  but  I  have  never  yet  found  myself  in  the 
presence  of  an  unrepentant  criminal,  sentenced  to  death 
— and  that  criminal  a  woman  and  a  mother.  I  own,  sir, 
that  I  am  shaken  by  the  prospect  before  me.” 

I  suggested  that  he  should  wait  awhile,  in  the  hope 
that  time  and  quiet  might  help  him.  He  thanked  me  and 
refused. 

“  If  I  have  any  knowledge  of  myself,”  he  said,  “  terrors 
of  anticipation  lose  their  hold  when  I  am  face  to  face  with 
a  serious  call  on  me.  The  longer  I  remain  here,  the  less 
worthy  I  shall  appear  of  the  trust  that  has  been  placed  in 
me — the  trust  which  (please  God)  I  mean  to  deserve.” 

My  own  observation  of  human  nature  told  me  that  this 
was  wisely  said.  I  led  the  way  at  once  to  the  cell. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Prisoner  was  seated  on  her  bed,  quietly  talking  with 
the  woman  appointed  to  watch  her.  When  she  rose  to  re¬ 
ceive  us  I  saw  the  Minister  start.  The  face  that  confronted 
him  would,  in  my  opinion,  have  taken  any  man  by  sur¬ 
prise,  if  he  had  first  happened  to  see  it  within  the  walls  of 
a  prison. 

Visitors  to  the  picture-galleries  of  Italy,  growing  weary 
of  holy  families  in  endless  succession,  observe  that  the 
idea  of  the  Madonna  among  the  rank  and  file  of  Italian  paint¬ 
ers,  is  limited  to  one  changeless  and  familiar  type.  I  can 
hardly  hope  to  be  believed,  when  I  say  that  the  personal 
appearance  of  the  murderess  recalled  that  type.  She 
presented  the  delicate  light  hair,  the  quiet  eyes,  the  finely 
shaped  lower  features,  and  the  correctly  oval  form  of  face 
repeated  in  hundreds  on  hundreds  of  the  conventional 
works  of  art  to  which  I  have  ventured  to  allude.  To 
those  who  doubt  me,  I  can  only  declare  that  what  I  have 
here-written  is  undisguised  and  absolute  truth.  Let  me 
add  that  daily  observation  of  all  classes  of  criminals  ex- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


9 


tending  over  many  years,  has  considerably  diminished  my 
faith  in  physiognomy  as  a  safe  guide  to  the  discovery  of 
character.  Nervous  trepidation  looks  like  guilt.  Guilt, 
firmly  sustained  by  insensibility,  looks  like  innocence.  One 
of  the  vilest  wretches  ever  placed  under  my  charge  won 
the  sympathies  (while  he  was  waiting  for  his  trial)  of  every 
person  who  saw  him,  including  even  the  persons  employed 
in  the  prison.  Only  the  other  day,  ladies  and  gentlemen 
coming  to  visit  me,  passed  a  body  of  men  at  work  on  the 
road.  Judges  of  physiognomy  among  them  were  horrified 
at  the  criminal  atrocity  betrayed  in  every  face  that  they 
noticed.  They  condoled  with  me  on  the  near  neighborhood 
of  so  many  convicts  to  my  official  place  of  residence.  I 
looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  a  group  of  honest  labor¬ 
ers  (whose  only  crime  was  poverty)  employed  by  the  parish. 

Having  instructed  the  female  warder  to  leave  the  room 
— but  to  take  care  that  she  waited  within  call — I  looked 
again  at  the  Minister. 

Confronted  by  the  serious  responsibility  that  he  had 
undertaken,  he  justified  what  he  had  said  to  me.  Still 
pale,  still  distressed,  he  was  now  nevertheless  master  of 
himself.  I  turned  to  the  door  to  leave  him  alone  with  the 
Prisoner.  She  called  me  back. 

“  Before  this  gentleman  tries  to  convert  me,”  she  said, 
“  I  want  you  to  wait  here  and  be  a  witness.” 

Finding  that  we  were  both  willing  to  comply  with  this 
request,  she  addressed  herself  directly  to  the  Minister. 
“Suppose  I  promise  to  listen  to  your  exhortations,”  she 
began,  “  what  do  you  promise  to  do  for  me  in  return  ?  ” 

The  voice  in  which  she  spoke  to  him  was  steady  and 
clear  ;  a  marked  contrast  to  the  tremulous  earnestness 
with  which  he  answered  her. 

“  I  promise  to  urge  you  to  repentance  and  the  confes¬ 
sion  of  your  crime.  I  promise  to  implore  the  divine  bless¬ 
ing  on  me  in  the  effort  to  save  your  poor  guilty  soul.” 

She  looked  at  him,  and  listened  to  him,  as  if  he  was 
speaking  to  her  in  an  unknown  tongue,  and  went  on  with 
what  she  had  to  say  as  quietly  as  ever. 

“When  I  am  hanged  to-morrow,  suppose  I  die  without 
confessing,  without  repenting — are  you  one  of  those  who 
believe  I  shall  be  doomed  to  eternal  punishment  in  an¬ 
other  life  ?  ” 

“  I  believe  in  the  mercy  of  God.” 

“Answer  my  question,  if  you  please.  Is  an  impenitent 
sinner  eternally  punished  ?  Do  you  believe  that  ?” 


10 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 

“My  Bible  leaves  me  no  other  alternative.” 

She  paused  for  awhile,  evidently  considering  with  spe¬ 
cial  attention  what  she  was  about  to  say  next. 

“As  a  religious  man,”  she  resumed,  “would  you  be  will¬ 
ing  to  make  some  sacrifice,  rather  than  let  a  fellow-creat¬ 
ure  go — after  a  disgraceful  death — to  everlasting  tor¬ 
ment  ?  ” 

“  I  know  of  no  sacrifice  in  my  power,”  he  said,  fervently, 
“to  which  I  would  not  rather  submit,  than  let  you  die  in 
the  present  dreadful  state  of  your  mind.” 

The  Prisoner  turned  to  me.  “  Is  the  person  who  watches 
me  waiting  outside  ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  call  her  in  ?  I  have  a  mes¬ 
sage  for  her.” 

It  was  plain  that  she  had  been  leading  the  way  to  the 
delivery  of  that  message,  whatever  it  might  be,  in  all  that 
she  had  said  up  to  the  present  time.  So  far  my  poor  pow¬ 
ers  of  penetration  helped  me,  and  no  farther. 

The  warder  appeared  and  received  her  message.  “Tell 
the  woman  who  has  come  here  with  my  little  girl  that  I 
want  to  see  the  child.” 

Taken  completely  by  surprise,  I  signed  to  the  attendant 
to  wait  for  further  instructions. 

In  a  moment  more  I  had  sufficiently  recovered  myself 
to  see  the  impropriety  of  permitting  any  obstacle  to  inter¬ 
pose  between  the  Minister  and  his  errand  of  mercy.  I 
gently  reminded  the  Prisoner  that  she  would  have  a  later 
opportunity  of  seeing  her  child.  “Your  first  duty,”  I  told 
her,  “  is  to  hear  and  to  take  to  heart  what  the  clergyman 
has  to  say  to  you.” 

For  the  second  time  I  attempted  to  leave  the  cell.  For 
the  second  time  this  impenetrable  woman  called  me 
back. 

“  Take  the  parson  away  with  you,”  she  said.  “  I  refuse 
to  listen  to  him.” 

The  patient  Minister  yielded,  and  appealed  to  me  to 
follow  his  example.  I  reluctantly  sanctioned  the  delivery 
of  the  message. 

After  a  brief  interval  the  child  was  brought  to  us,  tired 
and  sleepy.  For  a  while  the  nurse  roused  her  by  setting 
her  on  her  feet.  She  happened  to  notice  the  Minister 
fiist.  Her  bright  eyes  rested  on  him,  gravely  wondering. 
He  kissed  her,  and  after  a  momentary  hesitation,  gave  her 
to  her  mother,  dhe  horror  of  the  situation  overpowered 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


II 


him  ;  he  turned  his  face  away  from  us.  I  understood  what 
he  felt  ;  he  almost  overthrew  my  self-command. 

The  Prisoner  spoke  to  the  nurse  in  no  friendly  tone. 
“  You  can  go.” 

The  nurse  turned  toward  me,  ostentatiously  ignoring 
the  words  that  had  been  addressed  to  her.  “Am  I  to  go, 
sir,  or  to  stay  ?  ”  I  suggested  that  she  should  return  to 
the  waiting-room.  She  returned  at  once  in  silence.  The 
Prisoner  looked  after  her  as  she  went  out  with  such  an  ex¬ 
pression  of  hatred  in  her  eyes  that  the  Minister  noticed  it. 

“  What  has  that  person  done  to  offend  you  ?”  he  asked. 

“  She  is  the  last  person  in  the  whole  world  whom  I 
should  have  chosen  to  take  care  of  my  child,  if  the  power 
of  choosing  had  been  mine.  But  I  have  been  in  prison, 
without  a  living  creature  to  represent  me  or  to  take  my 
part.  No  more  of  that  ;  my  troubles  will  be  over  in  a 
few  hours  more.  I  want  you  to  look  at  my  little  girl, 
whose  troubles  are  all  to  come.  Do  you  call  her  pretty  ? 
Do  you  feel  interested  in  her  ?  ” 

The  sorrow  and  pity  in  his  face  answered  for  him. 

Quietly  sleeping,  the  poor  baby  rested  on  her  mother’s 
bosom.  Was  the  heart  of  the  murderess  softened  by  the 
divine  influence  of  maternal  love  ?  The  hands  that  held 
the  child  trembled  a  little.  For  the  first  time,  it  seemed 
to  cost  her  an  effort  to  compose  herself  before  she  could 
speak  to  the  Minister  again. 

“When  I  die  to-morrow,”  she  said,  “I  leave  my  child 
helpless  and  friendless — disgraced  by  her  mother’s  shame-' 
ful  death.  The  workhouse  may  take  her — or  a  charitable 
asylum  may  take  her.”  She  paused  ;  a  first  tinge  of  color 
rose  on  her  pale  face  ;  she  broke  into  an  outburst  of  rage. 
“  Think  of  my  daughter  being  brought  up  by  charity  ! 
She  may  suffer  poverty,  she  may  be  treated  with  con¬ 
tempt,  she  may  be  employed  by  brutal  people  in  menial 
work.  I  can’t  endure  it  ;  it  maddens  me.  If  she  is  not 
saved  from  that  wretched  fate,  I  shall  die  despairing,  I 
shall  die  cursing - ” 

The  Minister  sternly  stopped  her  before  she  could  say 
the  next  word.  To  my  astonishment,  she  appeared  to  be 
humbled,  to  be  even  ashamed  ;  she  asked  his  pardon  : 
“Forgive  me;  I  won’t  forget  myself  again.  They  tell 
me  you  have  no  children  of  your  own.  Is  that  a  sorrow 
to  you  and  your  wife  ?  ” 

Her  altered  tone  touched  him.  He  answered,  sadly  and 
kindly  :  “  It  is  the  one  sorrow  of  our  lives.” 


12 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN \ 


The  purpose  which  she  had  been  keeping  in  view  from 
the  moment  when  the  Minister  entered  her  cell  was  no 
mystery  now.  Ought  I  to  have  interfered  ?  Let  me  con¬ 
fess  a  weakness,  unworthy  perhaps  of  my  office.  I  was  so 
sorry  for  the  child — I  hesitated. 

My  silence  encouraged  the  mother.  She  advanced  to 
the  Minister  with  the  sleeping  infant  in  her  arms. 

“I  dare  say  you  have  sometimes  thought  of  adopting  a 
child  ?  ”  she  said.  “  Perhaps  you  can  guess  now  what  I 
had  in  my  mind,  when  I  asked  if  you  would  consent  to  a 
sacrifice  ?  Will  you  take  this  wretched  innocent  little 
creature  home  with  you?”  She  lost  her  self-possession 
once  more.  “  A  motherless  creature  to-morrow,”  she  burst 
out.  “  Think  of  that.” 

God  knows  how  I  still  shrunk  from  it  !  But  there  was 
no  alternative  now  ;  I  was  bound  to  remember  my  duty  to 
the  excellent  man,  whose  critical  position  at  that  moment 
was,  in  some  degree  at  least,  due  to  my  hesitation  in  as¬ 
serting  my  authority.  Could  I  allow  the  Prisoner  to  pre¬ 
sume  on  his  compassionate  nature,  and  to  hurry  him  into  a 
decision  which,  in  his  calmer  moments,  he  might  find  rea¬ 
son  to  regret  ?  I  spoke  to  him.  Does  the  man  live  who 
— having  to  say  what  I  had  to  say — could  have  spoken  to 
the  doomed  mother  ? 

“  I  am  sorry  I  have  allowed  this  to  go  on,”  I  said.  “  In 
justice  to  yourself,  sir,  don’t  answer  !” 

She  turned  on  me  with  a  look  of  fury. 

“  He  shall  answer !  ”  she  cried. 

I  saw,  or  thought  I  saw,  signs  of  yielding  in  his  face. 
“Take  time,”  I  persisted,  “take  time  to  consider  before 
you  decide.” 

She  stepped  up  to  me. 

“  Take  ti  me  !  ”  she  repeated.  “  Are  you  inhuman  enough 
to  talk  of  time  in  my  presence  ?  ” 

She  laid  the  sleeping  child  on  her  bed  and  fell  on  her 
knees  before  the  Minister.  “  I  promise  to  hear  your  ex¬ 
hortations— I  promise  to  do  all  a  woman  can  to  believe  and 
repent.  Oh,  I  know  myself  !  My  heart,  once  hardened,  is 
a  heart  that  no  human  creature  can  touch.  The  one  way 
to  my  better  nature— if  I  have  a  better  nature— is  through 
that  poor  babe.  Save  her  from  the  workhouse  !  Don’t 
let  them  make  a  pauper  of  her  !  ”  She  sank  prostrate  at 
his  feet,  and  beat  her  hands  in  frenzy  on  the  floor  “You 
want  to  save  my  guilty  soul,”  she  reminded  him,  furiou 

there  s  but  one  way  of  doing  it.  Save  my  child  !  ” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


He  raised  her.  Her  fierce,  tearless  eyes  questioned  his 
face  in  a  mute  expectation  dreadful  to  see.  Suddenly,  a 
foretaste  of  death — the  death  that  was  so  near  now!  — 
struck  her  with  a  shivering  fit ;  her  head  dropped  on  the 
Minister’s  shoulder.  Other  men  might  have  shrunk  from 
the  contact  of  it.  That  true  Christian  let  it  rest. 

Under  the  maddening  sting  of  suspense,  her  sinking  en¬ 
ergies  rallied  for  an  instant.  In  a  whisper,  she  was  just 
able  to  put  the  supreme  question  to  him  : 

“  Yes,  or  no  ?  ” 

He  answered,  “Yes.” 

A  faint  breath  of  relief,  just  audible  in  the  silence,  told 
me  that  she  had  heard  him.  It  was  her  last  effort.  He 
laid  her,  insensible,  on  the  bed  by  the  side  of  her  sleeping 
child.  “  Look  at  them,”  was  all  he  said  to  me  ;  “how 
could  I  refuse  ?  ” 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  services  of  our  medical  officer  were  required,  in  or¬ 
der  to  hasten  the  recovery  of  the  Prisoner’s  senses. 

When  the  Doctor  and  I  left  the  cell  together,  she  was 
composed,  and  ready  (in  the  performance  of  her  promise) 
to  listen  to  the  exhortations  of  the  Minister.  The  sleeping 
child  was  left  with  them.  As  we  stepped  into  the  corridor, 
I  gave  the  female  warder  her  instructions  to  remain  on 
watch,  and  to  return  to  her  post  when  she  saw  the  Minis¬ 
ter  come  out. 

In  the  meantime  my  companion  had  walked  on  a  little 
way. 

Possessed  of  ability  and  experience  within  the  limits  of 
his  profession,  he  was  in  other  respects  a  man  with  a  cro- 
chetty  mind  ;  bold  to  the  verge  of  recklessness  in  the  ex¬ 
pression  of  his  opinion  ;  and  possessed  of  a  command  of 
language  that  carried  everything  before  it.  Let  me  add 
that  he  was  just  and  merciful  in  his  intercourse  with  others, 
and  I  shall  have  summed  him  up  fairly  enough.  When  I 
joined  him  he  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  reflection. 

“Thinking  of  the  Prisoner?”  I  said. 

“Thinking  of  what  is  going  on  at  this  moment  in  the 
condemned  cell,”  he  answered,  “  and  wondering  if  any 
good  will  come  of  it.’’ 

I  was  not  without  hope  of  a  good  result,  and  I  said  so. 

The  Doctor  disagreed  with  me.  “  I  don’t  believe  in 


*4 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIiV. 


that  woman’s  penitence,”  he  remarked  ;  “and  I  look  upon 
the  parson  as  a  poor,  weak  creature.  What  is  to  become 
of  the  child  ?  ” 

There  was  no  reason  for  concealing  from  one  of  my  col¬ 
leagues  the  benevolent  decision  on  the  part  of  the  good 
Minister,  of  which  I  had  been  a  witness.  The  Doctor  lis¬ 
tened  to  me  with  the  first  appearance  of  downright  aston¬ 
ishment  that  I  had  ever  observed  in  his  face.  When  I  had 
done  he  made  an  extraordinary  reply  : 

“  Governor,  I  retract  what  I  said  just  now  of  the  Metho¬ 
dist  parson.  He  is  one  of  the  boldest  men  that  ever 
stepped  into  a  pulpit.” 

Was  the  Doctor  in  earnest  ?  Strongly  in  earnest ;  there 
could  be  no  doubt  of  it.  Before  I  could  ask  him  what  he 
meant,  he  was  called  away  to  a  patient  on  the  other  side 
of  the  prison.  When  we  parted  at  the  door  of  my  room,  I 
made  it  a  request  that  my  medical  friend  would  return  to 
me  and  explain  what  he  had  just  said. 

“Considering  that  you  are  the  governor  of  a  prison,” 
he  replied,  “you  are  a  singularly  rash  man.  If  I  come 
back,  how  do  you  know  I  shall  not  bore  you  ?” 

“Mv  rashness  runs  the  risk  of  that,”  I  rejoined. 

“  Tell  me  one  thing,  before  I  allow  you  to  run  your 
risk,”  he  said.  “Are  you  one  of  those  people  who  think 
that  the  tempers  of  children  are  formed  by  the  accidental 
influences  which  happen  to  be  about  them  ?  Or  do  you 
agree  with  me  that  the  tempers  of  children  are  inherited 
from  their  parents  ?  ” 

The  Doctor  (as  I  concluded)  was  still  strongly  impressed 
by  the  Minister’s  resolution  to  adopt  a  child,  whose  wicked 
mother  had  committed  the  most  atrocious  of  all  crimes. 
Was  some  serious  foreboding,  suggested  by  that  circum¬ 
stance,  in  secret  possession  of  his  mind  ?  My  curiosity  to 
hear  him  was  now  increased  tenfold.  I  replied  without 
hesitation,  “  I  agree  with  you.” 

He  looked  at  me  with  his  sense  of  humor  twinkling  in 
his  eyes.  “  Do  you  know  I  rather  expected  that  answer  ?  ” 
he  said,  slyly.  “All  right.  I’ll  come  back.” 

Left  by  myself,  I  took  up  the  day’s  newspaper. 

My  attention  wandered  ;  my  thoughts  were  in  the  cell 
with  the  Minister  and  the  Prisoner.  How  would  it  end? 
Sometimes,  I  was  inclined  to  doubt  with  the  Doctor. 
Sometimes,  I  took  refuge  in  my  own  more  hopeful  view. 
These  idle  reflections  were  agreeably  interrupted  by  the 
appearance  of  my  friend,  the  Chaplain. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAM 


*5 

“You  are  always  welcome/'  I  said;  “and  doubly  wel¬ 
come  just  now.  I  am  feeling  a  little  worried  and  anx¬ 
ious." 

“And  you  are  naturally,”  the  Chaplain  added,  “not  at 
all  disposed  to  receive  a  stranger  ?” 

“Is  the  stranger  a  friend  of  yours?"  I  asked. 

“  Oh  no  !  Having  occasion,  just  now,  to  go  into  the  wait¬ 
ing-room,  I  found  a  young  woman  there,  who  asked  me 
if  she  could  see  you.  She  thinks  you  have  forgotten  her, 
and  she  is  tired  of  waiting.  I  merely  undertook,  of 
course,  to  mention  what  she  had  said  to  me." 

The  nurse  having  been  in  this  way  recalled  to  my  mem¬ 
ory,  I  felt  some  little  interest  in  seeing  her,  after  what 
had  passed  in  the  cell.  In  plainer  words,  I  was  desirous 
of  judging  for  myself  whether  she  deserved  the  hostile 
feeling  which  the  Prisoner  had  shown  toward  her.  I 
thanked  the  Chaplain  before  he  left  me,  and  gave  the  ser¬ 
vant  the  necessary  instructions.  When  she  entered  the 
room,  I  looked  at  the  woman  attentively  for  the  first  time. 

Youth  and  a  fine  complexion,  a  well-made  figure  and  a 
natural  grace  of  movement — these  were  her  personal  at¬ 
tractions,  so  far  as  I  could  see.  Her  defects  were,  to  my 
mind,  equally  noticeable.  Under  a  heavy  forehead,  her 
piercing  eyes  looked  out  at  persons  and  things  with  an 
expression  which  was  not  to  my  taste.  Her  large  mouth 
— another  defect,  in  my  opinion — would  have  been  recom¬ 
mended  to  mercy,  in  the  estimation  of  many  men,  by  her 
magnificent  teeth  ;  white,  well-shaped,  cruelly  regular. 
Believers  in  physiognomy  might  perhaps  have  seen  the 
betrayal  of  an  obstinate  nature  in  the  lengthy  firmness  of 
her  chin.  While  I  am  trying  to  describe  her,  let  me  not 
forget  her  dress.  A  woman’s  dress  is  the  mirror  in  which 
we  may  see  the  reflection  of  a  woman’s  nature.  Bearing 
in  mind  the  melancholy  and  impressive  circumstances  un¬ 
der  which  she  had  brought  the  child  to  the  prison — the 
gayety  of  color  in  her  gown  and  her  bonnet  implied  either 
a  total  want  of  feeling  or  a  total  want  of  tact.  As  to  her 
position  in  life,  let  me  confess  that  I  felt,  after  a  closer  ex¬ 
amination,  at  a  loss  to  determine  it.  She  was  certainly 
not  a  lady.  The  Prisoner  had  spoken  of  her  as  if  she  was 
a  domestic  servant  who  had  forfeited  her  right  to  consid¬ 
eration  and  respect.  And  she  had  entered  the  prison  as  a 
nurse  might  have  entered  it,  in  charge  of  a  child.  I  did 
what  we  all  do  when  we  are  not  clever  enough  to  find  the 
answer  to  a  riddle — I  gave  it  up. 


i6 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


“  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  ”  I  asked. 

“  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me,”  she  answered,  “  how  much 
longer  I  am  to  be  kept  waiting  in  this  prison.” 

“The  decision,”  I  reminded  her,  “doesn’t  depend  on  me.” 

“Then  who  does  it  depend  on  ?” 

The  Minister  had  undoubtedly  acquired  the  sole  right 
of  deciding.  It  was  for  him  to  say  whether  this  woman 
should,  or  should  not,  remain  in  attendance  on  the  child 
whom  he  had  adopted.  In  the  meanwhile,  the  feeling  of 
distrust  which  was  gaining  on  my  mind  warned  me  to  re¬ 
member  the  value  of  reserve  in  holding  intercourse  with  a 
stranger. 

She  seemed  to  be  irritated  by  my  silence.  “  If  the  de¬ 
cision  doesn’t  rest  with  you,”  she  asked,  “  why  do  you 
tell  me  to  stay  in  the  waiting-room  ?  ” 

“You  brought  the  little  girl  into  the  prison,”  I  said, 
“  was  it  not  natural  to  suppose  that  your  mistress  might 
want  you - ?  ” 

“  Stop,  sir  !  ” 

I  had  evidently  given  offence  ;  I  stopped  directly. 

“No  person  on  the  face  of  the  earth,”  she  declared, 
loftily,  “  has  ever  had  the  right  to  call  herself  my  mistress. 
Of  my  own  free  will,  sir,  I  took  charge  of  the  child.” 

“  Because  you  are  fond  of  her?”  I  suggested. 

“I  hate  her.” 

It  was  unwise  on  my  part,  I  protested.  “  Hate  a  baby, 
little  more  than  a  year  old  !  ”  I  said. 

“  Her  baby  !  ” 

She  said  it  with  the  air  of  a  woman  who  had  produced 
an  unanswerable  reason.  “  I  am  accountable  to  nobody,” 
she  went  on.  “  If  I  consented  to  trouble  myself  with  the 
child,  it  was  in  remembrance  of  my  friendship — notice,  if 
you  please,  that  I  say  friendship — with  the  unhappy  fa¬ 
ther.” 

Putting  together  what  I  had  just  heard,  and  what  I  had 
seen  in  the  cell,  I  drew  the  right  conclusion  at  last.  The 
woman  whose  position  in  life  had  been  thus  far  an  impene¬ 
trable  mystery  to  me  now  stood  revealed  as  one  among 
other  objects  of  the  Prisoner’s  jealously  during  her  disas¬ 
trous  married  life.  A  serious  doubt  occurred  to  me  as  to 
the  authority  under  which  the  husband’s  mistress  might 
be  acting,  after  the  husband’s  death.  I  instantly  put  it  to 
the  test. 

“  Do  I  understand  you  to  assert  any  claim  to  the  child  ?  ” 
I  asked. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


17 

“  Claim  ?  ”  she  repeated.  “  I  know  no  more  of  the  child 
than  you  do.  I  heard  for  the  first  time  that  such  a  crea¬ 
ture  was  in  existence,  when  her  murdered  father  sent  for 
me  in  his  dying  moments.  At  his  entreaty  I  promised  to 
take  care  of  her,  while  her  vile  mother  was  out  of  the 
house  and  in  the  hands  of  the  law.  My  promise  has 
been  performed.  If  I  am  expected  (having  brought  her 
to  the  prison)  to  take  her  away  again,  understand  this  :  I 
am  under  no  obligation  (even  if  I  could  afford  it)  to  bur¬ 
den  myself  with  that  child  ;  I  shall  hand  her  over  to  the 
workhouse  authorities.” 

I  forgot  myself  once  more — I  lost  my  temper. 

“  Leave  the  room  !  ”  I  said.  “  Your  unworthy  hands  will 
not  touch  the  poor  baby  again.  She  is  provided  for.” 

“  I  don’t  believe  you  !  ”  the  wretch  burst  out.  “  Who 
has  taken  the  child  ?  ” 

A  quiet  voice  answered  :  “  I  have  taken  her.” 

We  both  looked  round  and  saw  the  Minister  standing 
in  the  open  doorway,  with  the  child  in  his  arms.  The 
ordeal  that  he  had  gone  through  in  the  condemned  cell 
was  visible  in  his  face  ;  he  looked  miserably  haggard  and 
broken.  I  was  eager  to  know  if  his  merciful  interest  in 
the  Prisoner  had  purified  her  guilty  soul — but  at  the  same 
time  I  was  afraid,  after  what  he  had  but  too  plainly  suffered, 
to  ask  him  to  enter  into  details. 

“  Only  one  word,”  I  said.  “  Are  your  anxieties  at  rest  ?  ” 

“  God’s  mercy  has  helped  me,”  he  answered.  “  I  have 
not  spoken  in  vain.  She  believes;  she  repents;  she  has 
confessed  the  crime.” 

After  handing  the  written  and  signed  confession  to  me, 
he  approached  the  venomous  creature,  still  lingering  in 
the  room  to  hear  what  passed  between  us.  Before  I  could 
stop  him,  he  spoke  to  her,  under  a  natural  impression  that 
he  was  addressing  the  Prisoner’s  servant. 

“I  am  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed,”  he  said,  “when 
I  tell  you  that  your  services  will  no  longer  be  required. 
I  have  reasons  for  placing  the  child  under  the  care  of  a 
nurse  of  my  own  choosing.” 

She  listened  with  an  evil  smile. 

“I  know  who  furnished  you  with  your  reasons,”  she  an¬ 
swered.  “  Apologies  are  quite  needless,  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned.  If  you  had  proposed  to  me  to  look  after  the 
new  member  of  your  family  there,  I  should  have  felt  it  my 
duty  to  myself  to  have  refused.  I  am  not  a  nurse — I  am 
an  independent  single  lady.  I  see  by  your  dress  that  you 


2 


i8 


THE  LEGACY  OE  CAIiV. 


are  a  clergyman  ;  allow  me  to  present  myself  as  a  mark  of 
respect  to  your  cloth.  I  am  Miss  Elizabeth  Chance. 
May  I  ask  the  favor  of  your  name  ?  ” 

Too  weary  and  too  preoccupied  to  notice  the  insolence 
of  her  manner,  the  Minister  mentioned  his  name.  “  I  am 
anxious,”  he  added,  “to  know  if  the  child  has  been  bap¬ 
tized.  Perhaps  you  can  enlighten  me  ?” 

Still  insolent,  Miss  Elizabeth  Chance  shook  her  head 
carelessly.  “  I  never  heard — and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I 
never  cared  to  hear — whether  she  was  christened  or  not. 
Call  her  by  what  name  you  like,  I  can  tell  you  this — you 
will  find  your  adopted  daughter  a  heavy  handful.” 

The  Minister  turned  to  me.  “  What  does  she  mean  ?  ” 

“  I  will  try  to  tell  you,”  Miss  Chance  interposed.  “  Be¬ 
ing  a  clergyman,  as  I  gather  from  your  dress,  you  know 
who  Deborah  was  ?  Very  well.  I  am  Deborah  now  ;  and 
I  prophesy.”  She  pointed  to  the  child,  with  a  horridly 
vindictive  look.  “  Remember  what  I  say,  reverend  sir ! 
You  will  find  the  tigress-cub  take  after  its  mother.” 

With  those  parting  words  she  favored  us  with  a  low 
courtesy,  and  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Minister  looked  at  me  in  an  absent  manner  ;  his  at¬ 
tention  seemed  to  have  been  wandering.  “What  was  it 
Miss  Chance  said  ?  ”  he  asked. 

Before  I  could  speak,  a  friend’s  voice  at  the  door  inter¬ 
rupted  us.  The  Doctor,  returning  to  me  as  he  had  prom¬ 
ised,  answered  the  Minister’s  question  in  these  words  : 

“  I  must  have  passed  the  person  you  mention,  sir,  as  I 
was  coming  in  here  ;  and  I  heard  her  say  :  ‘You  will  find 
the  tigress-cub  take  after  her  mother.’  If  she  had  known 
how  to  put  her  meaning  into  good  English,  Miss  Chance 
—  that  is  the  name  you  mentioned,  I  think — might  have 
told  you  that  the  vices  of  the  parents  are  inherited  by  the 
children.  And  the  one  particular  parent  she  had  in  her 
mind,”  the  Doctor  continued,  gently  patting  the  child’s 
cheek,  “  was  no  doubt  the  mother  of  this  unfortunate  little 
creature — who  may,  or  may  not,  live  to  show  you  that  she 
comes  of  a  bad  stock  and  inherits  a  wicked  nature.  That 
is  what  I  heard  ;  and  there  is  the  interpretation  I  put  on 
it,  entirely  at  your  service.” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CA1A r. 


19 


I  was  on  the  point  of  protesting  against  my  friend’s  in¬ 
terpretation,  when  the  Minister  stopped  me. 

“  Let  me  thank  you,  sir,  for  your  explanation,”  he  said 
to  the  Doctor.  “  As  soon  as  my  mind  is  free  I  will  reflect 
on  what  you  have  said.  Forgive  me,  Mr.  Governor,”  he 
went  on,  “  if  I  leave  you,  now  that  I  have  placed  the  Pris¬ 
oner’s  confession  in  your  hands.  It  has  been  an  effort  to 
me  to  say  the  little  I  have  said,  since  I  first  entered  this 
room.  I  can  think  of  nothing  but  that  unhappy  criminal 
and  the  death  that  she  must  die  to-morrow.” 

•  “  Does  she  wish  you  to  be  present  ?  ”  I  asked. 

“  She  positively  forbids  it.  ‘  After  what  you  have  done 
for  me,’  she  said,  ‘  the  least  I  can  do  in  return  is  to  prevent 
your  being  needlessly  distressed.’  She  took  leave  of  me  ; 
she  kissed  the  little  girl  for  the  last  time — oh,  don’t  ask 
me  to  tell  you  about  it  !  I  shall  break  down  if  I  try. 
Come,  my  darling!”  He  kissed  the  child  tenderly,  and 
took  her  away  with  him. 

“  That  man  is  a  strange  compound  of  strength  and  weak¬ 
ness,”  the  Doctor  remarked.  “  Did  you  notice  his  face  just 
now  ?  Nine  men  out  of  ten,  suffering  as  he  suffered,  would 
have  failed  to  control  themselves.  Such  resolution  as  his 
may  conquer  the  difficulties  that  are  in  store  for  him,  yet.” 

It  was  a  trial  of  my  temper  to  hear  my  clever  colleague 
justifying,  in  this  way,  the  ignorant  prediction  of  an  inso¬ 
lent  woman. 

“There  are  exceptions  to  all  rules,”  I  insisted.  “And 
why  are  the  virtues  of  the  parents  not  just  as  likely  to  de¬ 
scend  to  the  children  as  the  vices  ?  There  was  a  fund  of 
good,  I  can  tell  you,  in  that  poor  baby’s  father — though  I 
don’t  deny  that  he  was  a  profligate  man.  And  even  the 
horrible  mother — as  you  heard  just  now — has  virtue  enough 
left  in  her  to  feel  grateful  to  the  man  who  has  taken  care 
of  her  child.  These  are  facts  ;  you  can’t  dispute  them.” 

The  Doctor  took  out  his  pipe.  “  Do  you  mind  my  smok¬ 
ing?”  he  asked.  “  Tobacco  helps  me  to  arrange  my  ideas.” 

I  gave  him  the  means  of  arranging  his  ideas  ;  that  is  to 
say,  I  gave  him  the  match-box.  He  blew  some  preliminary 
clouds  of  smoke — and  then  he  answered  me. 

“  For  twenty  years  past,  my  friend,  I  have  been  study¬ 
ing  the  question  of  hereditary  transmission  of  qualities  ; 
and  I  have  found  vices  and  diseases  descending  more  fre¬ 
quently  to  children  than  virtues  and  health.  I  don’t  stop 
to  ask  why,  there  is  no  end  to  that  sort  of  curiosity. 
What  I  have  observed  is  what  I  tell  you  ;  no  more  and  no 


20 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALX. 


less.  You  will  say  this  is  a  horribly  discouraging  result 
of  experience,  for  it  tends  to  show  that  children  come 
into  the  world  at  a  disadvantage  on  the  day  of  their  birth. 
Of  course  they  do.  Children  are  born  deformed  ;  chil¬ 
dren  are  born  deaf,  dumb,  or  blind  ;  children  are  born 
with  the  seeds  in  them  of  deadly  diseases.  Who  can  ac- 
count  for  the  cruelties  of  creation  ?  Why  are  we  endowed 
with  life — only  to  end  in  death  ?  And  does  it  ever  strike 
you,  when  you  are  cutting  your  mutton  at  dinner,  and 
your  cat  is  catching  its  mouse,  and  your  spider  is  suffocat¬ 
ing  its  fly,  that  we  are  all,  big  and  little  together,  born,  to 
one  certain  inheritance — the  privilege  of  eating  each 
other.” 

“Very  sad,”  I  admitted.  “But  it  will  all  be  set  right  in 
another  world.” 

“  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  ”  the  Doctor  asked. 

“  Ouite  sure,  thank  God.  And  it  would  be  better  for 
you  if  you  felt  about  it  as  I  do.” 

“  We  won’t  dispute,  my  dear  Governor.  I  don’t  scoff  at 
comforting  hopes,  I  don’t  deny  the  existence  of  occasional 
compensations.  But  I  do  see,  nevertheless,  that  evil  has 
got  the  upper  hand  among  us,  on  this  curious  little  planet. 
Judging  by  my  observation  and  experience,  that  ill-fated 
baby’s  chance  of  inheriting  the  virtues  of  her  parents  is 
not  to  be  compared  with  her  chance  of  inheriting  their 
vices  ;  especially  if  she  happens  to  take  after  her  mother. 
There,  the  virtue  is  not  conspicuous,  and  the  vice  is  one 
enormous  fact.  When  I  think  of  the  growth  of  that  poi¬ 
sonous  hereditary  taint,  which  may  come  with  time — when 
I  think  of  passions  let  loose  and  temptations  lying  in  am¬ 
bush — I  see  the  smooth  surface  of  the  Minister’s  domestic 
life  with  dangers  lurking  under  it  which  make  me  shake 
in  my  shoes.  God  !  what  a  life  I  should  lead,  if  I  hap¬ 
pened  to  be  in  his  place,  some  years  hence.  Suppose  I 
said  or  did  something  (in  the  just  exercise  of  my  parental 
authority)  which  offended  my  adopted  daughter.  What 
figure  would  rise  from  the  dead  in  my  memory,  when  the 
girl  bounced  out  of  the  room  in  a  rage  ?  The  image  of 
her  mother  would  be  the  image  I  should  see.  I  should 
remember  what  her  mother  did  when  she  was  provoked  ;  I 
should  lock  my  bedroom  door,  in  my  own  house,  at  night. 
I  should  come  down  to  breakfast  with  suspicions  of  my 
cup  of  tea,  if  I  discovered  that  my  adopted  daughter  had 
poured  it  out.  Oh,  yes  ;  it’s  quite  true  that  I  might  be 
doing  the  girl  a  cruel  injustice  all  the  time  ;  but  how  am 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIiV. 


21 


I  to  be  sure  of  that  ?  I  am  only  sure  that  her  mother  was 
hanged.  Pass  the  match-box.  My  pipe’s  out,  and  my 
confession  of  faith  has  come  to  an  end.” 

It  was  useless  to  dispute  with  a  man  who  possessed  his 
command  of  language.  At  the  same  time,  there  was  a 
bright  side  to  the  poor  Minister’s  prospects  which  the 
Doctor  had  failed  to  see.  It  was  barely  possible  that  I 
might  succeed  in  putting  my  positive  friend  in  the  wrong. 
I  tried  the  experiment,  at  any  rate. 

“You  seem  to  have  forgotten,”  I  reminded  him, “that 
the  child  will  have  every  advantage  that  education  can 
offer  to  her,  and  will  be  accustomed  from  her  earliest 
years  to  restraining  and  purifying  influences  in  a  clergy¬ 
man’s  household.” 

Now  that  he  was  enjoying  the  fumes  of  tobacco,  the 
Doctor  was  as  placid  and  sweet-tempered  as  a  man  could  be. 

“O-uite  true,”  he  said. 

“Do  you  doubt  the  influence  of  religion?/’  I  asked, 
sternly. 

He  answered  sweetly  :  “  Not  at  all.” 

“Or  the  influence  of  kindness?” 

“  Oh,  dear,  no  !  ” 

“  Or  the  force  of  example  ?  ” 

“  I  wouldn’t  deny  it  for  the  world.” 

I  had  not  expected  this  extraordinary  docility.  The 
Doctor  had  got  the  upper  hand  of  me  again — a  state  of 
things  that  I  might  have  found  it  hard  to  endure,  but  for  a 
call  of  duty  which  put  an  end  to  our  sitting.  One  of  the 
female  warders  appeared  with  a  message  from  the  con¬ 
demned  cell.  The  Prisoner  wished  to  see  the  Governor 
and  the  Medical  Officer. 

“  Is  she  ill  ?”  the  Doctor  inquired. 

“  No,  sir.” 

“  Hysterical  ?  or  agitated,  perhaps  ?  ” 

“  As  easy  and  composed,  sir,  as  a  person  can  be.” 

We  set  forth  together  for  the  condemned  cell. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

There  was  a  considerate  side  to  my  friend’s  character, 
which  showed  itself  when  the  warder  had  left  us. 

He  was  especially  anxious  to  be  careful  of  what  he  said 
to  a  woman  in  the  Prisoner’s  terrible  situation  ;  especially 


22 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


in  the  event  of  her  having  been  really  subjected  to  the 
influence  of  religious  belief.  On  the  Minister’s  own  au¬ 
thority,  I  declared  that  there  was  every  reason  to  adopt 
this  conclusion  ;  and  in  support  of  what  I  had  said  I 
showed  him  the  confession.  It  only  contained  a  few  lines, 
acknowledging  that  she  had  committed  the  murder,  and 
that  she  deserved  her  sentence.  “  From  the  planning  of 
the  crime  to  the  commission  of  the  crime,  I  was  in  my 
right  senses  throughout.  I  knew  what  I  was  doing.” 
With  that  remarkable  disavowal  of  the  defence  set  up  by 
her  advocates,  the  confession  ended. 

My  colleague  read  the  paper  and  handed  it  back  to  me 
without  making  any  remark.  I  asked  if  he  suspected 
the  Prisoner  of  feigning  conversion  to  please  the  Minis¬ 
ter. 

‘‘She  shall  not  discover  it,”  he  answered  gravely,  “  if  I 
do.” 

It  would  not  be  true  to  say  that  the  Doctor’s  obstinacy 
had  shaken  my  belief  in  the  good  result  of  the  Minister’s 
interference.  I  may,  however,  acknowledge  that  I  felt 
some  misgivings,  which  were  not  dispelled  when  I  found 
myself  in  the  presence  of  the  Prisoner. 

I  had  expected  to  see  her  employed  in  reading  the  Bible. 
The  good  book  was  closed,  and  was  not  even  placed  within 
her  reach.  The  occupation  to  which  she  was  devoting 
herself  astonished  and  repelled  me. 

Some  carelessness  on  the  part  of  the  attendant,  had  left 
on  the  table  the  writing  materials  that  had  been  needed 
for  her  confession.  She  was  using  them  now — when  death 
on  the  scaffold  was  literally  within  a  few  hours  of  her — to 
sketch  a  portrait  of  the  female  warder  who  was  on  the 
watch  !  The  Doctor  and  I  looked  at  each  other  ;  and  now 
the  sincerity  of  her  repentance  was  something  that  I  began 
to  question,  too. 

She  laid  down  the  pen  and  proceeded  quietly  to  explain 
herself. 

“  Even  the  little  time  that  is  left  me  proves  to  be  a  weary 
time  to  get  through,”  she  said.  “  I  am  making  a  last  use 
of  the  talent  for  drawing  and  catching  a  likeness,  which 
has  been  one  of  my  gifts  since  I  was  a  girl.  You  look  as 
if  you  didn’t  approve  of  such  employment  as  this  for  a 
woman  who  is  going  to  be  hanged.  Well,  sir,  I  have  no 
doubt  you  are  right.”  She  paused  and  tore  up  the  por¬ 
trait.  “If  I  have  misbehaved  myself,”  she  resumed,  “  I 
make  amends.  To  find  you  in  an  indulgent  frame  of  mind 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAhV. 


is  of  importance  to  me  just  now.  I  have  a  favor  to 
ask  you.  May  the  warder  leave  the  cell  for  a  few  min¬ 
utes  ?  ” 

Giving  the  woman  permission  to  withdraw  for  a  while, 
I  waited  with  some  anxiety  to  hear  what  she  wanted  of 

me. 

“  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,”  she  proceeded,  “  on 
the  subject  of  executions.  The  face  of  the  person  who  is 
going  to  be  hanged  is  hidden,  as  I  have  been  told,  by  a 
white  cap  drawn  over  it.  Is  that  true  ?  ” 

How  another  man  might  have  felt,  in  my  place,  I  cannot, 
of  course,  say.  To  my  mind  such  a  question — on  her  lips 
— was  too  shocking  to  be  answered  in  words.  I  bowed. 

“  And  the  body  is  buried,”  she  went  on,  “  in  the  prison  ?  ” 

I  could  remain  silent  no  longer.  “  Is  there  no  human 
feeling  left  in  you  ?  ”  I  burst  out.  “  What  do  these  horrid 
questions  mean  ?  ” 

“  Don’t  be  angry  with  me,  sir  ;  you  shall  hear  directly. 
I  want  to  know  first  if  I  am  to  be  buried  in  the  prison  ?  ” 

I  replied  as  before,  with  a  bow. 

“  Now,”  she  said  :  “  I  may  tell  you  what  I  mean.  In  the 
autumn  of  last  year  I  was  taken  to  see  some  waxworks. 
Portraits  of  criminals  were  among  them.  There  was  one 

portrait - ”  She  hesitated  ;  her  infernal  self-possession 

failed  her  at  last.  The  color  left  her  face  ;  she  was  no 
longer  able  to  look  at  me  firmly.  “  There  was  one  por¬ 
trait,”  she  resumed,  “  that  had  been  taken  after  the  execu¬ 
tion.  The  face  was  so  hideous  ;  it  was  swollen  to  such  a 
size  in  its  frightful  deformity — oh  !  sir,  don’t  let  me  be  seen 
in  that  state,  even  by  the  strangers  who  bury  me  !  Use 
your  influence — forbid  them  to  take  the  cap  off  my  face 
when  I  am  dead — order  them  to  bury  mein  it,  and  I  swear 
to  you  I’ll  meet  death  to-morrow  as  coolly  as  the  boldest 
man  that  ever  mounted  the  scaffold !  ”  Before  I  could 
stop  her,  she  seized  me  by  the  hand,  and  wrung  it  with  a 
furious  power  that  left  the  mark  of  her  grasp  on  me,  in  a 
bruise,  for  days  afterward.  “  Will  you  do  it  ?  ”  she  cried. 
“You’re  an  honorable  man;  you  will  keep  your  word. 
Give  me  your  promise  !  ” 

I  gave  her  my  promise. 

The  relief  to  her  tortured  spirit  expressed  itself  horribly 
in  a  burst  of  frantic  laughter.  “  I  can’t  help  it,”  she 
gasped  ;  “  I’m  so  happy.” 

My  enemies  said  of  me,  when  I  got  my  appointment, 
that  I  was  too  excitable  a  man  to  be  governor  of  a  prison. 


24 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


Perhaps  they  were  not  altogether  wrong.  Anyhow,  the 
quick-witted  Doctor  saw  some  change  in  me,  which  I  was 
not  aware  of  myself.  He  took  my  arm,  and  led  me  out  of 
the  cell.  “  Leave  her  to  me,”  he  whispered.  “  The  fine 
edge  of  my  nerves  was  worn  off  long  ago  in  the  hospital.” 

When  we  met  again,  I  asked  what  had  passed  between 
the  Prisoner  and  himself. 

“  I  gave  her  time  to  recover,”  he  told  me  ;  “  and,  except 
that  she  looked  a  little  paler  than  usual,  there  was  no 
trace  left  of  the  frenzy  that  you  remember.  ‘  I  ought  to 
apologize  for  troubling  you,’  she  said  ;  ‘  but  it  is  perhaps 
natural  that  I  should  think,  now  and  then,  of  what  is  to 
happen  to  me  to-morrow  morning.  As  a  medical  man 
you  will  be  able  to  enlighten  me.  Is  death  by  hanging  a 
painful  death?’  She  had  put  it  so  politely  that  I  felt 
bound  to  answer  her.  ‘If  the  neck  happens  to  be  broken,’ 
I  said,  ‘  hanging  is  a  sudden  death  ;  fright  and  pain  (if 
there  is  any  pain)  are  both  over  in  an  instant.  As  to  the 
other  form  of  death,  which  is  also  possible  (I  mean  death 
by  suffocation),  I  must  own  as  an  honest  man  that  I  know 
no  more  about  it  than  you  do.’  After  considering  a  little, 
she  made  a  sensible  remark,  and  followed  it  by  an  embar¬ 
rassing  request.  ‘A  great  deal,’ she  said,  ‘must  depend 
on  the  executioner.  I  am  not  afraid  of  death,  Doctor. 
Why  should  I  be  ?  My  anxiety  about  mv  little  girl  is  set 
at  rest  ;  I  have  nothing  left  to  live  for.  But  I  don’t  like 
pain.  Would  you  mind  telling  the  executioner  to  be  care¬ 
ful  ?  Or  would  it  be  better  if  I  spoke  to  him  myself  ?’  I 
said  I  thought  it  would  come  with  a  better  grace  from 
herself.  She  understood  me  directly,  and  we  dropped  the 
subject.  Are  you  surprised  at  her  coolness  after  your  ex¬ 
perience  of  her  ?  ” 

I  confessed  that  1  was  surprised. 

“Think  a  little,”  the  Doctor  said.  “The  one  sensitive 
place  in  that  woman’s  nature  is  the  place  occupied  by  her 
self-esteem.” 

I  objected  to  this  that  she  had  shown  fondness  for  her 
child. 

My  friend  disposed  of  the  objection  with  his  customary 
readiness. 

“The  maternal  instinct,”  he  said.  “A  cat  is  fond  of 
hei  kittens  ;  a  cow  is  fond  of  her  calf.  No,  sir,  the  one 
cause  of  that  outbreak  of  passion  which  so  shocked  you — 
a  genuine  outbreak,  beyond  all  doubt — is  to  be  found  in 
the  vanity  of  a  fine  feminine  creature,  overpowered  by  a 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIJV. 


25 


horror  of  looking  hideous,  even  after  her  death.  Do  you 
know  I  rather  like  that  woman  ?  ” 

“  Is  it  possible  that  you  are  in  earnest  ?  ”  I  asked. 

“  I  know  as  well  as  you  do,”  he  answered,  “  that  this  is 
neither  a  time  nor  a  place  for  jesting.  The  fact  is,  the 
Prisoner  carries  out  an  idea  of  mine.  It  is  my  positive 
conviction  that  the  worst  murders — I  mean  murders  delib¬ 
erately  planned — are  committed  by  persons  absolutely  de¬ 
ficient  in  that  part  of  the  moral  organization  which  feels. 
The  night  before  they  are  hanged,  they  sleep.  On  their 
last  morning,  they  eat  a  breakfast.  Incapable  of  realizing 
the  horror  of  murder,  they  are  incapable  of  realizing  the 
horror  of  death.  Do  you  remember  the  last  murderer 
who  was  hanged  here,  a  gentleman’s  coachman  who  killed 
his  wife  ?  He  had  but  two  anxieties  while  he  was  wait¬ 
ing  for  execution.  One  was  to  get  his  allowance  of  beer 
doubled,  and  the  other  was  to  be  hanged  in  his  coach¬ 
man’s  livery.  You  may  object  that  this  example  is  taken 
from  a  man  of  the  lowest  order  among  human  beings. 
What  do  you  say  to  the  clever  American  professor,  who 
committed  a  barbarous  murder.  He  gave  a  dinner-party 
in  the  interval  between  the  crime  and  the  discovery.  At 
dessert-time,  the  room  was  darkened  ;  a  lurid  blue  light 
was  kindled  ;  the  murderer  exhibited  himself,  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  with  a  rope  round  his  neck,  and  his  tongue 
lolling  out  of  his  mouth,  in  humorous  imitation  of  a 
hanged  man.  No  !  No  !  these  wretches  are  all  alike  ; 
they  are  human  creatures  born  with  the  temperaments  of 
tigers.  Take  my  word  for  it,  we  need  feel  no  anxiety  about 
to-morrow.  The  Prisoner  will  face  the  crowd  round  the 
scaffold  with  composure  ;  and  the  people  will  say,  ‘  She 
died  game.’  ” 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  capital  punishment  of  the  Prisoner  is  in  no  respect 
connected  with  my  purpose  in  writing  the  present  narra¬ 
tive.  Neither  do  I  desire  to  darken  these  pages  by  de¬ 
scribing  in  detail  an  act  of  righteous  retribution  which 
must  present,  by  the  nature  of  it,  a  scene  of  horror.  For 
these  reasons  I  ask  to  be  excused,  if  I  limit  what  I  must 
needs  say  of  the  execution  within  the  compass  of  a  few 
words — and  pass  on. 


26 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


The  one  self-possessed  person  among  us  was  the  miser¬ 
able  woman  who  suffered  the  penalty  of  death. 

Not  very  discreetly,  as  I  think,  the  Chaplain  asked  her 
if  she  had  truly  repented.  She  answered,  “  I  have  con¬ 
fessed  the  crime,  sir.  What  more  do  you  want?”  To  my 
mind — still  hesitating  between  the  view  that  believes  with 
the  Minister  and  the  view  that  doubts  with  the  Doctor — 
this  reply  leaves  a  way  open  to  a  hope  of  her  salvation. 
Her  last  words  to  me,  as  she  mounted  the  steps  of  the 
scaffold,  were  :  “  Remember  your  promise.”  It  was  easy 
for  me  to  be  true  to  my  word.  At  that  bygone  time  no 
difficulties  were  placed  in  my  way  by  such  precautions  as 
are  now  observed  in  the  conduct  of  executions  within  the 
walls  of  the  prison.  From  the  time  of  her  death  to  the 
time  of  her  burial,  no  living  creature  saw  her  face.  She 
rests,  veiled,  in  her  prison  grave.  Let  me  turn  to  living 
interests,  and  to  scenes  removed  from  the  thunder-clouds 
of  crime. 


The  next  day  I  received  a  visit  from  the  Minister. 

His  first  words  entreated  me  not  to  allude  to  the  terrible 
event  of  the  previous  day.  “I  cannot  escape  thinking  of 
it,”  he  said,  “  but  I  may  avoid  speaking  of  it.”  This 
seemed  to  me  to  be  the  misplaced  confidence  of  a  weak 
man  in  the  refuge  of  silence.  By  way  of  changing  the 
subject,  I  spoke  of  the  child.  There  would  be  serious 
difficulties  to  contend  with  (as  I  ventured  to  suggest)  if  he 
remained  in  the  town  and  allowed  his  new  responsibilities 
to  become  the  subject  of  public  talk. 

His  reply  to  this  agreeably  surprised  me.  There  were 
no  difficulties  to  be  feared.  Obligations  of  duty  made  it 
necessary  that  lie  should  leave  the  town  immediately,  and 
one  of  the  objects  of  his  visit  was  to  say  good-by. 

I  was.  not  then  aware  that  a  minister  of  the  Wesleyan 
persuasion  has  the  spiritual  charge  of  a  place  of  worship 
for  a  period  which  is  not  allowed  to  exceed  three  years. 
The  constituted  authority  under  which  he  acts  then  re¬ 
moves  him  to  another  “circuit,”  as  it  is  called  ;  often  sit¬ 
uated  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  place  in  which 
ie  had  previously  ministered  to  a  congregation.  These 
penodical  separations  of  the  pastor  and  his  flock,  fre¬ 
quently  productive  of  affectionate  regret  on  either  side, 
aie  justified  by  reasons  on  which  it  is  not  necessary  to 
we  in  this  place.  With  strong  personal  motives  for  re- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAI/V. 


27 


gretting  his  removal,  the  Minister  was  nevertheless  recon¬ 
ciled  to  it,  in  the  interests  of  the  child. 

“The  next  place  I  live  in,”  he  said,  “will  be  more  than 
a  hundred  miles  from  this  town.  At  that  distance  I  may- 
hope  to  keep  events  concealed  which  must  be  known  only 
to  ourselves.  Do  you  see  any  risk  of  discovery  so  far?” 

“  I  see  j;wo  chances  against  you,”  I  answered.  “  One  of 
them,  in  my  opinion,  requires  serious  consideration.” 

“  Are  you  thinking,”  he  asked,  “  of  the  person  who  in¬ 
troduced  herself  to  me  as  Miss  Elizabeth  Chance  ?  ” 

“Yes.” 

“  Make  your  mind  easy.  I  saw  the  danger,  in  that  case, 
as  you  see  it,  and  I  caused  inquiries  to  be  made.  The 
woman  was  traced  to  the  railway  station  yesterday  after¬ 
noon.  Miss  Chance  took  her  ticket  for  London.” 

After  congratulating  him  on  this  discovery,  I  asked  if 
he  proposed  to  let  the  servants,  now  in  his  employment, 
accompany  him  on  his  removal  from  the  town. 

He  at  once  understood  the  allusion. 

“  If  you  are  speaking  of  the  second  of  those  chances 
against  me,” he  said,  “circumstances — providential  circum¬ 
stances,  as  I  now  think — have  done  for  me  what  I  never 
thought  of  doing  for  myself.  My  servants  (only  two  in 
number)  have  both  been  born  in  your  town  here,  and  have 
both  told  my  wife  that  they  have  no  wish  to  leave  their  na¬ 
tive  place.” 

The  Minister’s  good  fortune  had  again  befriended  him. 
He  would  be  safe  from  the  gossip  of  those  two  servants  in 
his  new  home.  Although  they  had  no  doubt  seen  his  lit¬ 
tle  adopted  daughter,  there  was  nothing  to  fear,  so  far, 
unless  they  knew  who  she  was.  They  had  made  no  such 
discovery.  This,  the  Minister  assured  me,  he  had  ascer¬ 
tained  as  a  positive  fact. 

“You  will  understand  how  carefully  I  have  provided 
against  being  deceived,”  he  said,  “when  I  tell  you  what 
my  plans  are  for  the  future.  The  persons  among  whom 
my  future  lot  is  cast — and  the  child  herself,  of  course — 
must  never  suspect  that  the  new  member  of  my  family  is 
other  than  my  own  daughter.  This  is  deceit,  I  admit  ;  but 
it  is  deceit  that  injures  no  one.  I  hope  you  see  the  neces¬ 
sity  for  it  as  I  do.” 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  necessity. 

If  the  child  was  described  as  adopted,  there  would  be 
curiosity  about  the  circumstances,  and  inquiries  relating  to 
the  parents.  Prevaricating  replies  lead  to  suspicion  and 


28 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


suspicion  to  discovery.  But  for  the  wise  course  which  the 
Minister  had  decided  on  taking,  the  poor  child’s  life  might 
have  been  darkened  by  the  horror  of  the  mother’s  crime, 
and  the  infamy  of  the  mother’s  death. 

Having  quieted  my  friend’s  needless  scruples  by  this 
perfectly  sincere  expression  of  opinion,  I  ventured  to  ap¬ 
proach  the  central  figure  in  his  domestic  circle,  by  means 
of  a  question  relating  to  his  wife.  How  had  that  lady  re¬ 
ceived  the  little  stranger,  for  whose  appearance  on  the 
home-scene  she  must  have  been  entirely  unprepared  ? 

The  Minister’s  manner  showed  some  embarrassment ;  he 
prefaced  what  he  had  to  tell  me  with  praises  of  his  wife, 
equally  creditable  no  doubt  to  both  of  them.  The  beauty 
of  the  child,  the  pretty  ways  of  the  child,  he  said,  fasci¬ 
nated  that  admirable  woman  at  first  sight.  It  was  not  to 
be  denied  that  she  had  felt,  and  had  expressed,  misgivings 
on  hearing  the  sad  story  of  the  little  creature’s  parentage. 
But  her  mind  was  too  well  balanced  to  incline  to  this  state 
of  feeling,  when  her  husband  had  addressed  her  in  defence 
of  his  conduct.  She  then  understood  that  the  true  merit 
of  an  act  of  mercy  consisted  in  patiently  facing  the  sacri¬ 
fices  involved.  Her  interest  in  the  new  daughter  being,  in 
this  way,  ennobled  by  a  sense  of  Christian  duty,  there  had 
been  no  further  difference  of  opinion  between  the  married 
pair. 

I  listened  to  this  plausible  explanation  with  interest, 
but,  at  the  same  time,  with  doubts  of  the  lasting  nature 
of  the  lady’s  submission  to  circumstances  ;  suggested  per¬ 
haps  by  the  constraint  in  the  Minister’s  manner.  It  was 
well  for  both  of  us  when  he  changed  the  subject.  He  re¬ 
minded  me  of  the  discouraging  view  which  the  doctor 
had  taken  of  the  prospect  before  him. 

“I  will  not  attempt  to  decide  whether  your  friend  is 
right  or  wrong,”  he  said.  “Trusting,  as  1  do,  in  the  mercy 
of  God,  I  look  hopefully  to  a  future  time  when  all  that  is 
brightest  and  best  in  the  nature  of  my  adopted  child  will 
be  developed  under  my  fostering  care.  If  evil  tendencies 
show  themselves,  my  reliance  will  be  confidently  placed 
on  pious  example,  on  religious  instruction,  and  above  all, 
on  intercession  by  prayer.  Repeat  to  your  friend,”  he 
concluded,  “what  you  have  just  heard  me  say.  Let  me 
ask  him  if  he  could  confront  the  uncertain  future  with 
my  cheerful  submission  and  my  steadfast  hope.” 

He  entrusted  me  with  that  message,  and  gave  me  his 
hand,  So  we  parted. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


29 


I  agreed  with  him.  I  admired  him  ;  but  my  faith 
seemed  to  want  sustaining  power,  as  compared  with  his 
faith.  On  his  own  showing  (as  it  appeared  to  me)  there 
would  be  two  forces  in  a  state  of  conflict  in  the  child’s  nat¬ 
ure  as  she  grew  up — inherited  evil  against  inculcated 
good.  Try  as  I  might,  I  failed  to  feel  the  Minister’s  com¬ 
forting  conviction  as  to  which  of  the  two  would  win. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  few  days  after  the  good  man  had  left  our  town,  I  met 
with  a  serious  accident,  caused  by  a  false  step  on  the 
stone  stairs  of  the  prison. 

The  long  illness  which  followed  this  misfortune,  and 
my  removal  afterward  (in  the  interests  of  my  recovery) 
to  a  milder  climate  than  the  climate  of  England,  obliged 
me  to  confide  the  duties  of  governor  of  the  prison  to  a 
representative.  I  was  absent  from  my  post  for  rather 
more  than  a  year.  During  this  interval  no  news  reached 
me  from  my  reverend  friend. 

Having  returned  to  the  duties  of  my  office,  I  thought  of 
writing  to  the  Minister.  While  the  proposed  letter  was 
still  in  contemplation,  I  was  informed  that  a  lady  wished 
to  see  me.  She  sent  in  her  card.  My  visitor  proved  to 
be  the  Minister’s  wife. 

I  observed  her  with  no  ordinary  attention  when  she  en¬ 
tered  the  room. 

Her  dress  was  simple  ;  her  scanty  light  hair,  so  far  as  I 
could  see  it  under  her  bonnet,  was  dressed  with  taste. 
The  paleness  of  her  lips,  and  the  faded  color  in  her  face, 
suggested  that  she  was  certainly  not  in  good  health. 
Two  peculiarities  struck  me  in  her  personal  appearance. 
I  never  remembered  having  seen  any  other  person  with 
such  a  singularly  narrow  and  slanting  forehead  as  this 
lady  presented ;  and  I  was  impressed,  not  at  all  agreeably, 
by  the  flashing,  shifting  expression  in  her  eyes.  On  the 
other  hand,  let  me  own  that  I  was  powerfully  attracted 
and  interested  by  the  beauty  of  her  voice.  Its  fine  variety 
of  compass,  and  its  musical  resonance  of  note  fell  with 
such  enchantment  on  my  ear,  that  I  should  have  liked  to 
put  a  book  of  poetry  into  her  hand,  and  to  have  heard 
her  read  it  in  the  summer-time,  accompanied  by  the  mu¬ 
sic  of  a  rocky  stream. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


3° 

The  object  of  her  visit — so  far  as  she  explained  it  at 
the  outset — appeared  to  be  to  offer  her  congratulations  on 
my  recovery.  Even  those  commonplace  words  were  made 
interesting  by  her  delicious  voice.  But,  however  sensi¬ 
tive  to  sweet  sounds  a  man  may  be,  there  are  limits  to  his 
capacity  for  deceiving  himself — especially  when  he  hap¬ 
pens  to  be  enlightened  by  experience  of  humanity  within 
the  walls  of  a  prison.  I  had,  it  may  be  remembered, 
already  doubted  the  lady’s  good  temper,  judging  from 
her  husband’s  overwrought  description  of  her  virtues. 
Her  eyes  looked  at  me  furtively  ;  and  her  manner,  grace¬ 
fully  self-possessed  as  it  was,  suggested  that  she  had 
something  of  a  delicate,  or  disagreeable  nature,  to  say  to 
me,  and  that  she  was  at  a  loss  how  to  approach  the  sub¬ 
ject  so  as  to  produce  the  right  impression  on  my  mind  at 
the  outset.  There  was  a  momentary  silence  between  us. 
For  the  sake  of  saying  something,  I  asked  how  she  and 
the  Minister  liked  their  new  place  of  residence. 

“Our  new  place  of  residence,”  she  answered,  “has  been 
made  interesting  by  a  very  unexpected  event — an  event 
(how  shall  I  describe  it  ?)  which  has  increased  our  happi¬ 
ness,  and  enlarged  our  family  circle.” 

There  she  stopped  ;  expecting  me,  as  I  fancied,  to  guess 
what  she  meant.  A  woman,  and  that  woman  a  mother, 
might  have  fulfilled  her  anticipations.  A  man,  and  that 
man  not  listening  attentively,  was  simply  puzzled. 

“Pray  excuse  my  stupidity,”  I  said  ;  “  I  don’t  quite  un¬ 
derstand  you.” 

The  lady’s  temper  looked  at  me  out  of  the  lady’s  shift¬ 
ing  eyes,  and  hid  itself  again  in  a  moment.  She  set  her¬ 
self  right  in  my  estimation  by  taking  the  whole  blame  of 
our  little  misunderstanding  on  her  own  innocent  shoulders. 

“  I  ought  to  have  spoken  more  plainly,”  she  said.  “  Let 
me  try  what  I  can  do  now.  After  many  years  of  disap¬ 
pointment  in  my  married  life,  it  has  pleased  providence 
to  bestow  on  me  the  happiness — the  inexpressible  happi¬ 
ness  of  being  a  mother.  My  baby  is  a  sweet  little  girl, 
and  my  one  regret  is  that  I  cannot  nurse  her  myself.” 

My  languid  interest  in  the  Minister’s  wife  was  not  stimu¬ 
lated  by  the  announcement  of  this  domestic  event. 

I  felt  no  wish  to  see  the  “  sweet  little  girl  ;  ”  I  was  not 
even  reminded  of  another  example  of  long-deferred  ma¬ 
ternity,  which  had  occurred  within  the  limits  of  my  own 
lamily  circle.  All  my  sympathies  attach  to  the  sad  little 
ngure  01  the  adopted  child.  I  remembered  the  poor  baby 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


31 


on  my  knee,  enchanted  by  the  ticking  of  my  watch — I 
thought  of  her,  peacefully  and  prettily  under  the  horrid 
shelter  of  the  condemned  cell — and  it  is  hardly  too  much 
to  say  that  my  heart  was  heavy,  when  I  compared  her 
prospects  with  the  prospects  of  her  baby-rival.  Kind  as 
he  was,  conscientious  as  he  was,  could  the  Minister  be  ex¬ 
pected  to  admit  to  an  equal  share  in  his  love  the  child 
endeared  to  him  as  a  father,  and  the  child  who  merely  re¬ 
minded  him  of  an  act  of  mercy  ?  As  for  his  wife,  it 
seemed  the  merest  waste  of  time  to  put  her  state  of  feeling 
(placed  between  the  two  children)  to  the  test  of  inquiry. 
I  tried  the  useless  experiment  nevertheless. 

“It  is  pleasant  to  think,”  I  began,  “that  your  other 
daughter - 

She  interrupted  me,  with  the  utmost  gentleness:  “Do 
you  mean  the  child  that  my  husband  was  foolish  enough 
to  adopt  ?  ” 

“  Say  rather  fortunate  enough  to  adopt,”  I  persisted. 
“As  your  own  little  girl  grows  up,  she  will  want  a  play¬ 
fellow,  and  she  will  find  a  playfellow  in  that  other  child, 
whom  the  good  Minister  has  taken  for  his  own.” 

“No,  my  dear  sir — not  if  I  can  prevent  it.” 

The  contrast  between  the  cruelty  of  her  intention  and 
the  musical  beauty  of  the  voice  which  politely  expressed 
it  in  those  words,  really  startled  me.  I  was  at  a  loss  how 
to  answer  her,  at  the  very  time  when  I  ought  to  have  been 
most  ready  to  speak. 

“You  must  surely  understand,”  she  went  on,  “that  we 
don’t  want  another  person’s  child,  now  we  have  a  little 
darling  of  our  own.” 

“  Does  your  husband  agree  with  you  in  that  view?”  I 
asked. 

“Oh,  dear,  no  !  He  said  what  you  said  just  now,  and 
(oddly  enough)  almost  in  the  same  words.  But  I  don’t  at 
all  despair  of  persuading  him  to  change  his  mind — and  you 
can  help  me.” 

She  made  that  audacious  assertion  with  such  an  appear¬ 
ance  of  feeling  perfectly  sure  of  me,  that  my  politeness 
gave  way  under  the  strain  laid  on  it.  “  What  do  you  mean?  ” 
I  asked  sharply. 

Not  in  the  least  impressed  by  my  change  of  manner,  she 
took  from  the  pocket  of  her  dress  a  printed  paper.  “You 
will  find  what  I  mean  there,”  she  replied — and  put  the  pa¬ 
per  into  my  hand. 

It  was  an  appeal  to  the  charitable  public,  occasioned  by 


32 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAW. 


the  enlargement  of  an  orphan  asylum,  with  which  I  had 
been  connected  for  many  years.  What  she  meant  was 
plain  enough  now.  I  said  nothing.  I  only  looked  at  her. 

Pleased  to  find  that  I  was  clever  enough  to  guess  what 
she  meant,  on  this  occasion,  the  Minister’s  wife  informed 
me  that  the  circumstances  were  all  in  our  favor.  She  still 
persisted  in  taking  me  into  partnership — the  circumstances 
were  in  our  favor. 

“In  two  years  more,”  she  explained,  “  the  child  of  that 
detestable  creature  who  was  hanged — do  you  know,  I  can¬ 
not  even  look  at  the  little  wretch  without  thinking  of  the 
gallows  ? — will  be  old  enough  (with  your  interest  to  help 
us)  to  be  received  into  the  asylum.  After  the  same  inter¬ 
val  of  time,  which,  you  will  agree  with  me,  is  particularly 
lucky - ” 

“  Pray  don’t  take  it  for  granted,”  I  interposed,  “  that  I 
agree  with  you  in  anything  that  you  propose  to  do.” 

“  After  the  same  interval  of  time,”  she  resumed,  with¬ 
out  taking  the  slightest  notice  of  what  I  had  said,  “  my 
husband  will  have  served  his  three  years  where  we  are  now 
living,  and  will  be  removed  to  another  circuit.  We  shall 
be  among  strangers  again,  and  they  will  not  notice  any 
change  that  we  have  made  in  our  family  arrangements. 
What  a  relief  it  will  be  to  get  rid  of  that  child  !  And  how 
hard  I  shall  work  at  canvassing  for  subscribers’  votes  ! 
Your  name  will  be  a  tower  of  strength  when  I  use  it  as  a 
reference.  Pardon  me — you  are  not  looking  so  pleasantly 
as  usual.  Do  you  see  some  obstacles  in  our  way  ?” 

“  I  see  two  obstacles.” 

“What  can  they  possibly  be  ?  ” 

For  the  second  time  my  politeness  gave  way  under  the 
strain  laid  on  it.  “  You  know  perfectly  well,”  I  said,  “  what 
one  of  the  obstacles  is.” 

“Am  I  to  understand  that  you  contemplate  any  serious 
resistance  on  the  part  of  my  husband?” 

“  Certainly  !  ” 

She  was  unaffectedly  amused  by  my  simplicity. 

“Are  you  a  single  man  ?  ”  she  asked. 

“  I  am  a  widower.” 

“Ihen  your  experience  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  know 
every  weak  point  in  the  Minister’s  character.  I  can  tell 
him,  on  your  authority,  that  the  hateful  child  will  be  placed 
in  competent  and  kindly  hands — and  I  have  my  own  sweet 
baby  to  plead  forme.  With  these  advantages  in  my  favor, 
do  you  actually  suppose  I  can  fail  to  make  my  way  of  think- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


33 


ing  his  way  of  thinking  ?  You  must  have  forgotten  your 
own  married  life  !  Suppose  we  go  on  to  the  second  of  your 
two  obstacles.  I  hope  it  will  be  better  worth  considering 
than  the  first.” 

“  The  second  obstacle  will  not  disappoint  you,”  I  an¬ 
swered  ;  “I  am  the  obstacle  this  time.” 

“  You  refuse  to  help  me  ?  ” 

“  Positively.” 

“  Perhaps  reflection  may  alter  your  resolution  ?” 

“  Reflection  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind.” 

“You  are  rude,  sir.” 

“  In  speaking  to  you,  madam,  I  have  no  alternative  but 
to  speak  plainly.” 

She  rose.  Her  shifting  eyes  for  once  looked  at  me 
steadily. 

“  What  sort  of  enemy  have  I  made  of  you  ?”  she  asked. 
“A  passive  enemy  who  is  content  with  refusing  to  help 
me  ?  Or  an  active  enemy  who  will  write  to  my  husband  ?” 

“It  depends  entirely,”  I  told  her,  “on  what  your  hus¬ 
band  does.  If  he  questions  me  about  you,  I  shall  tell  him 
the  truth.” 

“  And  if  not  ?  ” 

“In  that  case,  I  shall  hope  to  forget  that  you  ever 
favored  me  with  a  visit.” 

In  making  this  reply  I  was  guiltless  of  any  malicious 
intention.  What  evil  interpretation  site  placed  on  my 
words  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  say  ;  I  can  only  declare 
that  some  intolerable  sense  of  injury  hurried  her  into  an 
outbreak  of  rage.  Her  voice,  strained  for  the  first  time, 
lost  its  tuneful  beauty  of  tone. 

“  Come  and  see  us  in  two  years’  time,”  she  burst  out — 
“  and  discover  the  orphan  of  the  gallows  in  our  house  if 
you  can  !  If  your  asylum  won’t  take  her,  some  other  char¬ 
ity  will.  Ha,  Mr.  Governor,  I  deserve  my  disappointment ! 
I  ought  to  have  remembered  that  you  are  only  a  jailer 
after  all.  And  what  is  a  jailer  ?  Proverbially  a  brute. 
Do  you  hear  that  ?  A  brute  !  ” 

Her  strength  suddenly  failed  her.  She  dropped  back 
into  the  chair  from  which  she  had  risen,  with  a  faint  cry  of 
pain.  A  lurid  pallor  stole  over  her  face.  There  was  wine 
on  the  sideboard  ;  I  filled  a  glass.  She  refused  to  take  it. 
At  that  time  in  the  day  the  Doctor’s  duties  required  his 
attendance  in  the  prison.  I  instantly  sent  for  him.  After 
a  moment’s  look  at  her,  he  took  the  wine  out  of  my  hand, 
and  held  the  glass  to  her  lips. 

3 


34 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


“  Drink  it,”  he  said.  She  still  refused. 

“  Drink  it,”  he  reiterated,  “or  you  will  die.” 

That  frightened  her  ;  she  drank  the  wine.  The  Doctor 
waited  for  awhile  with  his  fingers  on  her  pulse.  “  She  will 
do  now,”  he  said. 

“  Can  I  go  ?  ”  she  asked. 

“  Go  wherever  you  please,  madam — so  long  as  you  don’t 
go  up-stairs  in  a  hurry.” 

She  smiled  :  “  I  understand  you,  sir — and  thank  you 

for  your  advice.” 

I  asked  the  Doctor,  when  we  were  alone,  w’hat  made 
him  tell  her  not  to  go  upstairs  in  a  hurry. 

“What  I  felt,”  he  answered,  “when  I  had  my  fingers  on 
her  pulse.  You  heard  her  say  that  she  understood  me.” 

“Yes  ;  but  I  don’t  know  what  she  meant.” 

“  She  meant,  probably,  that  her  own  doctor  had  warned 
her  as  I  did.” 

“  Something  seriously  wrong  with  her  health  ?” 

“Yes.” 

“  What  is  it  ?  ” 

“  Heart.” 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  -week  had  passed  since  the  Minister’s  wife  had  left 
me,  when  I  received  a  letter  from  the  Minister  himself. 

After  surprising  me,  as  he  innocently  supposed,  by  an¬ 
nouncing  the  birth  of  his  child,  he  mentioned  some  cir¬ 
cumstances  connected  with  that  event  which  I  now  heard 
for  the  first  time. 

“Within  an  easy  journey  of  the  populous  scene  of  my 
present  labors,”  he  wrote,  “  there  is  a  secluded  country  vil¬ 
lage  called  Low  Lanes.  The  rector  of  the  place  is  my 
wife’s  brother.  Before  the  birth  of  our  infant,  he  had 
asked  his  sister  to  stay  for  awhile  at  his  house,  and  the 
doctor  thought  she  might  safely  be  allowed  to  accept  the 
invitation.  Through  some  error  in  the  customary  calcu¬ 
lations,  as  I  suppose,  the  child  was  born  unexpectedly  at 
the  rectory,  and  the  ceremony  of  baptism  was  performed 
at  the  church,  under  circumstances  which  I  am  not  able 
to  relate  within  the  limits  of  a  letter.  Let  me  only  say 
that  I  allude  to  this  incident  without  any  sectarian  bitter¬ 
ness  of  feeling — for  I  am  no  enemy  to  the  Church  of  Eng¬ 
land.  You  have  no  idea  what  treasures  of  virtue  and 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


35 


treasures  of  beauty  maternity  has  revealed  in  my  wife’s 
sweet  nature.  Other  mothers  in  her  proud  position  might 
find  their  love  cooling  toward  the  poor  child  whom  we 
have  adopted.  But  my  household  is  irradiated  by  the 
presence  of  an  angel,  who  gives  an  equal  share  in  her  af¬ 
fections  to  the  two  little  ones  alike.” 

In  this  semi-hysterical  style  of  writing,  the  poor  man 
unconsciously  told  me  how  cunningly  and  how  cruelly  his 
wife  was  deceiving  him. 

I  longed  to  exhibit  that  wicked  woman  in  her  true  char¬ 
acter — but  what  could  I  do  ?  She  must  have  been  so  fav¬ 
ored  by  circumstances  as  to  be  able  to  account  for  her  ab¬ 
sence  from  home,  without  exciting  the  slightest  suspicion 
of  the  journey  which  she  had  really  taken.  If  I  declared 
in  my  reply  to  the  Minister’s  letter,  that  I  had  received 
her  in  my  rooms,  and  if  I  repeated  the  conversation  that 
had  taken  place,  what  would  the  result  be  ?  She  would 
find  an  easy  refuge  in  positive  denial  of  the  truth — and,  in 
that  case,  which  of  us  would  her  infatuated  husband  be¬ 
lieve  ? 

The  one  part  of  the  letter  which  I  read  with  some  satis¬ 
faction  was  the  end  of  it. 

I  was  here  informed  that  the  Minister’s  plans  for  con¬ 
cealing  the  parentage  of  his  adopted  daughter  had  proved 
to  be  entirely  successful.  The  members  of  the  new  do¬ 
mestic  household  believed  the  two  children  to  be  infant 
sisters.  Neither  was  there  any  danger  of  the  adopted 
child  being  identified  as  the  oldest  child  of  the  two  by 
consultation  of  the  registers. 

Before  he  left  our  town,  the  Minister  had  seen  for  him¬ 
self  that  no  baptismal  name  had  been  added  after  the  cus¬ 
tomary  registration  of  birth,  and  that  no  entry  of  baptism 
existed  in  the  registers  kept  in  places  of  worship.  He 
drew  the  inference — in  all  probability  a  true  inference, 
considering  the  characters  of  the  parents — that  the  child 
had  never  been  baptized  ;  and  he  performed  the  ceremony 
privately  ;  abstaining,  for  obvious  reasons,  from  adding 
her  Christian  name  to  the  register  of  her  birth.  “  I  am 
not  aware,”  he  wrote,  “whether  I  have,  or  have  not,  com¬ 
mitted  an  offence  against  the  law.  In  any  case,  I  may 
hope  to  have  made  atonement  by  obedience  to  the  gospel.” 

Six  weeks  passed,  and  I  heard  from  my  reverend  friend 
once  more. 

His  second  letter  presented  a  marked  contrast  to  the 
first.  It  was  written  in  sorrow  and  anxiety,  to  inform  me 


36 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


of  an  alarming  change  for  the  worse  in  his  wife’s  health. 
I  showed  the  letter  to  my  medical  colleague.  He  had  told 
me  what  was  the  matter  with  the  lady  (when  she  was  taken 
ill  in  my  rooms)  in  one  word  : — Heart.  After  reading  the 
letter  he  predicted  the  event  that  might  be  expected,  in 
two  words  : — Sudden  death. 

On  the  next  occasion  when  I  heard  from  the  Minister, 
the  Doctor’s  grim  reply  proved  to  be  a  prophecy  fulfilled. 

When  we  address  expressions  of  condolence  to  bereaved 
friends,  the  principles  of  popular  hypocrisy  sanction  in¬ 
discriminate  lying  as  a  duty  which  we  owe  to  the  dead — 
no  matter  what  their  lives  may  have  been — because  they 
are  dead.  Within  my  own  little  sphere  I  have  always  been 
silent  when  I  could  not  offer  to  afflicted  persons  expres¬ 
sions  of  sympathy  which  I  honestly  felt.  To  have  con¬ 
doled  with  the  Minister  on  the  loss  that  he  had  sustained 
by  the  death  of  a  woman,  self-betrayed  to  me  as  shame¬ 
lessly  deceitful,  and  pitilessly  determined  to  reach  her  own 
cruel  ends,  would  have  been  to  degrade  myself  by  telling 
a  deliberate  lie.  1  expressed  in  my  answer  all  that  an  hon¬ 
est  man  naturally  feels  when  he  is  writing  to  a  friend  in 
distress  ;  carefully  abstaining  from  any  allusion  to  the 
memory  of  his  wife,  or  to  the  place  which  her  death  had 
left  vacant  in  his  household.  My  letter,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
disappointed  and  offended  him.  He  wrote  to  me  no  more, 
until  years  had  passed  and  time  had  exerted  its  influence 
in  producing  a  more  indulgent  frame  of  mind.  These 
letters  of  a  later  date  have  been  preserved,  and  will  prob¬ 
ably  be  used,  at  the  right  time,  for  purposes  of  explana¬ 
tion  with  which  I  may  be  connected  in  the  future. 


The  correspondent  whom  I  had  now  lost  was  succeeded 
by  a  gentleman  entirely  unknown  to  me. 

Ihose  reasons  which  induced  me  to  conceal  the  names 
of  persons,  while  I  was  relating  events  in  the  prison,  do 
not  apply  to  correspondence  with  a  stranger  writing  from 
another  place.  I  may,  therefore,  mention  that  Mr.  Dun- 
boyne,  of  Fairmount,  on  the  west  coast  of  Ireland,  was  the 
writer  of  the  letter  now  addressed  to  me.  He  proved,  to 
my  surprise,  to  be  one  of  the  relations  whom  the  Prisoner 
under  sentence  of  death  had  not  cared  to  see,  when  I  of- 
feied  her  the  opportunity  of  saying  farewell.  Mr.  Dun- 
boyne  was  a  brother-in-law  of  the  murderess.  He  had 
married  her  sister. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


37 


His  wife,  he  informed  me,  had  died  in  childbirth,  leav¬ 
ing  him  but  one  consolation- — a  boy,  who  already  recalled 
all  that  was  brightest  and  best  in  his  lost  mother.  The 
father  was  especially  anxious  that  the  son  should  never 
become  acquainted  with  the  disgrace  that  had  befallen  the 
family.  Owing  his  social  position  to  his  own  honest  ex¬ 
ertions,  he  was  especially  sensitive  to  any  slur  that  might 
be  cast  on  his  name. 

The  letter  then  proceeded  in  these  terms  : 

“  I  heard  yesterday,  for  the  first  time,  by  means  of  an 
old  newspaper  cutting  sent  to  me  by  a  friend,  the  miser¬ 
able  woman  who  suffered  the  ignominy  of  public  execution 
has  left  an  infant  child.  Can  you  tell  me  what  has  be¬ 
come  of  the  orphan  ?  If  this  poor  little  girl  is,  as  I  fear, 
not  well  provided  for,  I  only  do  what  my  beloved  wife 
would  have  done  if  she  had  lived,  by  offering  to  make  the 
child’s  welfare  my  especial  care.  I  am  willing  to  place 
her  in  an  establishment  well  known  to  me,  in  which  she 
will  be  kindly  treated,  well  educated,  and  fitted  to  earn  her 
own  living  honorably  in  later  life. 

“If  you  feel  some  surprise  at  finding  that  my  good  in¬ 
tentions  toward  that  ill-fated  little  creature  (my  niece  by 
marriage  !)  do  not  go  to  the  length  of  receiving  her  as  a 
member  of  my  own  family,  I  beg  to  submit  some  consider¬ 
ations  which  will,  I  hope,  weigh  with  you  as  they  have 
weighed  with  me. 

“  In  the  first  place,  there  is  at  least  a  possibility — how¬ 
ever  carefully  I  might  try  to  conceal  it — that  the  child’s 
parentage  would  sooner  or  later  be  discovered.  In  the 
second  place  (and  assuming  that  I  succeeded  in  keeping 
the  secret),  if  this  girl  and  my  boy  grew  up  together,  there 
is  another  possibility  to  be  reckoned  with :  they  might  be¬ 
come  attached  to  each  other.  Does  the  father  live  who 
would  allow  his  son  ignorantly  to  marry  the  daughter  of  a 
convicted  murderess  ?  I  should  have  no  alternative  but  to 
reveal  the  truth,  and  to  wound  the  hearts  of  two  young 
creatures  innocently  devoted  to  each  other.  Who  would 
run  such  a  risk  as  this  ?  Not  I,  for  one.” 

The  letter  ended  with  some  complimentary  expressions 
addressed  to  myself.  And  the  question  was,  how  ought  I 
to  answer  it  ? 

My  correspondent  had  strongly  impressed  me  in  his  fa¬ 
vor  ;  I  could  not  doubt  that  he  was  a  high-minded  and 
honorable  man.  But  the  interest  of  the  Minister  in  keep¬ 
ing  his  own  benevolent  action  secure  from  the  risk  of  dis- 


38 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


covery — increased  as  it  was  by  the  filial  relations  of  the 
two  children  toward  him,  now  publicly  established — had, 
as  I  could  not  doubt,  the  paramount  claim  on  me.  The 
absolutely  safe  course  to  take  was  to  admit  no  one,  friend 
or  stranger,  to  our  confidence.  I  replied  accordingly, 
expressing  sincere  admiration  of  Mr.  Dunboyne’s  motives, 
and  informing  him  that  the  child  was  already  provided  for. 

After  that  I  heard  no  more  of  the  good  Irish  gentleman. 

It  is  perhaps  hardly  necessary  to  add  that  I  kept  the 
Minister  in  ignorance  of  my  correspondence  with  Mr. 
Dunboyne.  I  was  too  well  acquainted  with  my  friend’s 
sensitive  and  self-tormenting  nature  to  let  him  know  that 
a  relative  of  the  Prisoner  was  living,  and  was  aware  that 
she  had  left  a  child. 

One  last  event  remains  to  be  related,  before  I  close  these 
pages. 

During  the  year  of  which  I  am  now  writing,  our  Chap¬ 
lain  added  one  more  to  the  many  examples  that  I  have 
seen  of  his  generous  readiness  to  serve  his  friends.  He 
had  arranged  to  devote  his  annual  leave  of  absence  to  a 
tour  among  the  English  lakes,  when  he  received  a  letter 
from  a  clergyman  resident  in  London,  whom  he  had 
known  from  the  time  when  they  had  been  school-fellows. 
This  old  friend  wrote  under  circumstances  of  the  severest 
domestic  distress,  which  made  it  absolutely  necessary  that 
he  should  leave  London  for  a  while.  Having  failed  to 
find  a  representative  who  could  relieve  him  of  his  clerical 
duties,  he  applied  to  the  Chaplain  to  recommend  a  clergy¬ 
man  who  might  be  in  a  position  to  help  him.  My  excel¬ 
lent  colleague  gave  up  his  holiday  plans  without  hesita¬ 
tion,  and  went  to  London  himself. 

On  his  return  I  asked  if  he  had  seen  anything  of  some 
acquaintances  of  his  and  mine,  who  were  then  visitors  to 
the  metropolis.  He  smiled  significantly  when  he  answered 
me. 

“  I  have  got  a  card  for  you  from  an  acquaintance  whom 
you  have  not  mentioned,”  he  said  ;  “  and  I  rather  think  it 
will  astonish  you.” 

It  simply  puzzled  me.  When  he  gave  me  the  card  this 
is  what  I  found  printed  on  it : 

Mrs.  Tenbruggen  (of  South  Beveland). 

“  Well  ?  ”  said  the  Chaplain. 

“  Well,”  I  answered,  “  I  never  even  heard  of  *  Mrs. 
Tenbruggen,  of  South  Beveland.’  Who  is  she  ?  ” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


39 


“  I  married  the  lady  to  a  foreign  gentleman,  only  last 
week,  at  my  friend’s  church,”  the  Chaplain  replied.  “  Per¬ 
haps  you  may  remember  her  maiden  name  ?  ” 

He  mentioned  the  name  of  the  dangerous  creature  who 
had  first  presented  herself  to  me,  in  charge  of  the  Prisoner’s 
child — otherwise  Miss  Elizabeth  Chance.  The  reappear¬ 
ance  of  this  woman  on  the  scene — although  she  was  only 
represented  by  her  card — caused  me  a  feeling  of  vague 
uneasiness,  so  contemptibly  superstitious  in  its  nature, 
that  I  now  remember  it  with  shame.  I  asked  a  stupid 
question  : 

“  How  did  it  happen  ?  ” 

“  In  the  ordinary  course  of  such  things,”  my  friend  said. 
“  They  were  married  by  license,  in  their  parish  church. 
The  bridegroom  was  a  fine  tall  man,  with  a  bold  eye  and  a 
dashing  manner.  The  bride  and  I  recognized  each  other 
directly.  When  Miss  Chance  had  become  Mrs.  Tenbrug- 
gen  she  took  me  aside  and  gave  me  her  card.  ‘  Ask  the 
Governor  to  accept  it,’  she  said,  'in  remembrance  of  the 
time  when  he  took  me  for  a  nursemaid.  Tell  him  I  am 
married  to  a  Dutch  gentleman  of  high  family.  If  he  ever 
comes  to  Holland,  we  shall  be  glad  to  see  him  at  our  resi¬ 
dence  in  South  Beveland.’  There  is  her  message  to  you, 
repeated  word  for  word.” 

“  I  am  glad  she  is  going  to  live  out  of  England.” 

“  Why  ?  Surely  you  have  no  reason  to  fear  her  ?  ” 

“  None  whatever.” 

“  You  are  thinking  perhaps  of  somebody  else  ?  ” 

I  was  thinking  of  the  Minister,  but  it  seemed  to  be 
safest  not  to  say  so. 

My  pen  is  laid  aside,  and  my  many  pages  of  writing 
have  been  sent  to  their  destination.  To  take  a  metaphor 
from  the  stage — the  curtain  falls  here  on  the  Governor 
and  the  Prison.* 


SECOND  PERIOD:  1875. 

THE  GIRLS  AND  THE  JOURNALS— HELENA’S  DIARY. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

We  both  said  good  night,  and  went  up  to  our  room 
with  a  new  object  in  view.  By  our  father’s  advice  we  had 
resolved  on  keeping  diaries,  for  the  first  time  in  our  lives, 
and  had  pledged  ourselves  to  begin  before  we  went  to 
bed. 

Slowly  and  silently  and  lazily,  my  sister  sauntered  to 
her  end  of  the  room,  and  seated  herself  at  her  writing- 
table.  On  the  desk  lay  a  nicely  bound  book,  full  of  blank 
pages.  The  word  “  Journal  ”  was  printed  on  it  in  gold 
letters,  and  there  was  fitted  to  the  covers  a  bright  brass 
lock  and  key.  A  second  journal,  exactly  similar  in  every 
respect  to  the  first,  was  placed  on  the  writing-table  at  my 
end  of  the  room.  I  opened  my  book.  The  sight  of  the 
blank  leaves  irritated  me  ;  they  were  so  smooth,  so  spot¬ 
less,  so  entirely  ready  to  do  their  duty.  I  took  too  deep 
a  dip  of  ink,  and  began  the  first  entry  in  my  diary  by 
making  a  blot.  This  was  discouraging.  I  got  up,  and 
looked  out  of  the  window. 

“  Helena !  ” 

My  sister’s  voice  could  hardly  have  addressed  me  in  a 
more  weary  tone,  if  her  pen  had  been  at  work  all  night, 
relating  domestic  events.  “Well?”  I  said.  “What  is 
it  ?” 

“  Have  you  done  already  ?  ”  she  asked. 

I  showed  her  the  blot.  My  sister  Eunice  (the  strangest 
as  well  as  the  dearest  of  girls)  always  blurts  out  what  she 
has  in  her  mind  at  the  time.  She  fixed  her  eyes  gravely 
on  my  spoiled  page,  and  said,  “  That  comforts  me.”  I 
crossed  the  room,  and  looked  at  her  book.  She  had  not 
even  summoned  energy  enough  to  make  a  blot.  “What 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


41 


will  papa  think  of  us,”  she  said,  “  if  we  don’t  begin  to¬ 
night  ?  ” 

“Why  not  begin,”  I  suggested,  “  by  writing  down  what 
he  said  when  he  gave  us  our  journals  ?  Those  wise  words 
of  advice  will  be  in  their  proper  place  on  the  first  page  of 
the  new  books.” 

Not  at  all  a  demonstrative  girl  naturally,  not  ready  with 
her  tears,  not  liberal  with  her  caresses,  not  fluent  in  her 
talk,  Eunice  was  affected  by  my  proposal  in  a  manner 
wonderful  to  see.  She  suddenly  developed  into  an  excit¬ 
able  person — I  declare  she  kissed  me.  “Oh,”  she  burst 
out,  “  how  clever  you  are  !  The  very  thing  to  write 
about  ;  I’ll  do  it  directly.” 

She  really  did  it  directly ;  without  once  stopping  to 
consider,  without  once  waiting  to  ask  my  advice.  Line 
after  line  I  heard  her  noisy  pen  hurrying  to  the  bottom  of 
a  first  page,  and  getting  three  parts  of  the  way  toward 
the  end  of  a  second  page  before  she  closed  her  diary.  I 
reminded  her  that  she  had  not  turned  the  key  in  the  lock 
which  was  intended  to  keep  her  writing  private. 

“  It’s  not  worth  while,”  she  answered.  “Anybody  who 
cares  to  do  it  may  read  what  I  write.  Good-night.” 

The  singular  change  which  I  had  noticed  in  her  began 
to  disappear  when  she  set  about  her  preparations  for  bed. 
I  noticed  the  old  easy  indolent  movements  again,  and  that 
regular  and  deliberate  method  of  brushing  her  hair,  which 
I  can  never  contemplate  without  feeling  a  stupefying  in¬ 
fluence  that  has  helped  me  to  many  a  delicious  night’s 
sleep.  She  said  her  prayers  in  her  favorite  corner  of  the 
room,  and  laid  her  head  on  the  pillow  with  the  luxurious 
little  sigh  which  announces  that  she  is  falling  asleep. 
This  reappearance  of  her  usual  habits  was  really  a  relief 
to  me.  Eunice  in  a  state  of  excitement,  is  Eunice  exhib¬ 
iting  an  unnatural  spectacle. 

The  next  thing  I  did  was  to  take  the  liberty  which  she 
had  already  sanctioned — I  mean  the  liberty  of  reading 
what  she  had  written.  Here  it  is,  copied  exactly  : 

“  I  am  not  half  so  fond  of  anybody  as  I  am  of  papa.  He 
is  always  kind  ;  he  is  always  right.  I  love  him,  I  love  him, 
I  love  him  ! 

“  But  this  is  not  how  I  meant  to  begin.  I  must  tell  how 
he  talked  to  us  ;  I  wish  he  was  here  to  tell  it  himself. 

“He  said  to  me  :  ‘You  are  getting  lazier  than  ever,  Eu¬ 
nice.’  He  said  to  Helena  :  ‘  You  are  feeling  the  influence 
of  Eunice’s  example.’  He  said  to  both  of  us  :  ‘  You  are 


42 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


too  ready,  my  dear  children,  to  sit  with  your  hands  on 
your  laps,  looking  at  nothing  and  thinking  of  nothing  ;  I 
want  you  to  try  a  new  way  of  employing  your  leisure 
time.’ 

“He  opened  a  parcel  on  the  table.  He  made  each  of 
us  a  present  of  a  beautiful  book  called  ‘Journal.’  He 
said  :  ‘  When  you  have  nothing  to  do,  my  dears,  in  the 
evening,  employ  yourselves  in  keeping  a  diary  of  the 
events  of  the  day.  It  will  be  a  useful  record  in  many 
ways,  and  a  good  moral  discipline  for  young  girls.’  Hel¬ 
ena  said  :  ‘  Oh,  thank  you.’  I  said  the  same,  but  not  so 
cheerfully. 

“The  truth  is,  I  feel  out  of  spirits  now  if  I  think  of 
papa  ;  I  am  not  easy  in  my  mind  about  him.  When  he  is 
very  much  interested,  there  is  a  quivering  in  his  face 
which  I  don’t  remember  in  past  times.  He  seems  to  have 
got  older  and  thinner  all  on  a  sudden.  He  shouts  (which 
he  never  used  to  do)  when  ho  threatens  sinners  at  sermon 
time.  Being  in  dreadful  earnest  about  our  souls,  he  is  of 
course  obliged  to  speak  of  the  devil ;  but  he  never  used 
to  hit  the  harmless  pulpit  cushion  with  his  fist,  as  lie  does 
now.  Nobody  seems  to  have  seen  these  things  but  me  ; 
and  now  I  have  noticed  them,  what  ought  I  to  do  ?  I  don’t 
know  ;  I  am  certain  of  nothing,  except  what  I  have  put  in 
at  the  top  of  page  one  : —  I  love  him,  I  love  him,  I  love 
him.” 

••••#•*## 

There  this  curious  entry  ended.  It  was  easy  enough 
now  to  discover  the  influence  which  had  made  my  slow- 
minded  sister  so  ready  with  her  memory  and  her  pen — so 
ready,  in  short,  to  do  anything  and  everything,  provided 
her  heart  was  in  it,  and  her  father  was  in  it. 

But  Eunice  is  wrong,  let  me  tell  her,  in  what  she  says 
of  herself. 

I,  too,  have  seen  the  sad  change  in  my  father  ;  but  I 
happen  to  know  that  he  dislikes  having  it  spoken  of  at 
home,  and  I  have  kept  my  painful  discoveries  to  myself. 
Unhappily,  the  best  medical  advice  is  beyond  our  reach. 
The  one  really  competent  doctor  in  this  place  is  known  to 
be  an  infidel.  But  for  that  shocking  obstacle,  I  might 
have  persuaded  my  father  to  see  him.  As  for  the  other 
two  doctors  whom  he  has  consulted,  at  different  times,  one 
talked  about  suppressed  gout,  and  the  other  told  him  to 
take  a  year’s  holiday  and  enjoy  himself  on  the  continent. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


43 


The  clock  has  just  struck  12.  I  have  been  writing  and 
copying  until  my  eyes  are  heavy,  and  I  want  to  follow 
Eunice’s  example  and  sleep  as  sound  as  she  does.  We 
have  made  a  strange  beginning  of  this  journalizing  experi¬ 
ment.  I  wonder  how  long  it  will  go  on,  and  what  will 
come  of  it. 

SECOND  DAY. 

I  begin  to  be  afraid  that  I  am  as  stupid — no,  that  is  not  a 
nice  word  to  use — let  me  say,  as  simple  as  dear  Eunice. 
A  diary  means  a  record  of  the  events  of  the  day  ;  and  not 
one  of  the  events  of  yesterday  appears  in  my  sister’s  jour¬ 
nal  or  in  mine.  Well,  it  is  easy  to  set  that  mistake  right. 
Our  lives  are  so  dull  (but  I  would  not  say  so  in  my  father’s 
hearing  for  the  world)  that  the  record  of  one  day  will  be 
much  the  same  as  the  record  of  another. 

After  family  prayers  and  breakfast  I  suffer  my  custom¬ 
ary  persecution  at  the  hands  of  the  cook.  That  is  to  say, 
I  am  obliged,  being  the  housekeeper,  to  order  what  we  have 
to  eat.  Oh,  how  I  hate  inventing  dinners !  and  how  I  ad¬ 
mire  the  enviable  slowness  of  mind  and  laziness  of  body 
which  have  saved  Eunice  from  undertaking  the  worries  of 
housekeeping,  in  her  turn  !  She  can  go  and  work  in  her 
garden,  while  I  am  racking  my  invention  to  discover  va¬ 
riety  in  dishes,  without  overstepping  the  limits  of  economy. 
I  suppose  I  may  confess  it  privately  to  myself — how  sorry 
I  am  not  to  have  been  born  a  man  ! 

My  next  employment  leads  me  to  my  father’s  study  to 
write  under  his  dictation.  I  don’t  complain  of  this  ;  it  flat¬ 
ters  my  pride  to  feel  that  I  am  helping  so  great  a  man. 
At  the  same  time,  I  do  notice  that  here,  again,  Eunice’s 
little  defects  have  relieved  her  of  another  responsibility. 
She  can  neither  keep  dictated  words  in  her  memory,  nor 
has  she  ever  been  able  to  learn  how  to  put  in  her  stops. 

After  the  dictation  I  have  an  hour’s  time  left  for  prac¬ 
tising  music.  My  sister  comes  in  from  the  garden  with 
her  pencil  and  paint  box  and  practises  drawing.  Then 
we  go  out  for  a  walk — a  delightful  walk,  if  my  father  goes 
too.  He  has  something  always  new  to  tell  us,  suggested 
by  what  we  pass  on  the  way.  Then  dinner  time  comes — 
not  always  a  pleasant  part  of  the  day  to  me.  Sometimes 
I  hear  paternal  complaints  (always  gentle  complaints)  of 
my  housekeeping  ;  sometimes  my  sister  (I  won’t  say  my 
greedy  sister)  tells  me  I  have  not  given  her  enough  to  eat. 
Poor  father.  Dear  Eunice. 


44 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


Dinner  having  reached  its  end,  we  stroll  in  the  garden 
when  the  weather  is  fine.  When  it  rains,  we  make  flannel 
petticoats  for  poor  old  women.  What  a  horrid  thing  old 
age  is  to  look  at  !  To  be  ugly,  to  be  helpless,  to  be  miser¬ 
ably  unfit  for  all  the  pleasures  of  life — I  hope  I  shall  not 
live  to  be  an  old  woman.  What  would  my  father  say  if  he 
saw  this  ?  For  his  sake,  to  say  nothing  of  my  own  feelings, 
I  shall  do  well  if  I  make  it  a  custom  to  use  the  lock  of  my 
journal. 

Our  next  occupation  is  to  join  the  Scripture  class  for 
girls,  and  to  help  the  teacher.  This  is  a  good  discipline 
for  Eunice’s  temper,  and — oh,  I  don’t  deny  it ! — for  my  tem¬ 
per,  too.  I  may  long  to  box  the  ears  of  the  whole  class, 
but  it  is  my  duty  to  keep  a  smiling  face  and  to  be  a  model 
of  patience.  From  the  Scripture  class  we  sometimes  go  to 
my  father’s  lecture.  At  other  times  we  may  amuse  our¬ 
selves  as  well  as  we  can  till  the  tea  is  ready.  After  tea,  we 
read  books  which  instruct  us,  poetry  and  novels  being  for¬ 
bidden.  When  we  are  tired  of  the  books,  we  talk.  When 
supper  is  over,  we  have  prayers  again  and  we  go  to  bed. 
There  is  our  day.  Oh,  dear  me  !  there  is  our  day. 

*  ••••«••• 

And  how  has  Eunice  succeeded  in  her  second  attempt 
at  keeping  a  diary  ?  Flere  is  what  she  has  written.  It  has 
one  merit  that  nobody  can  deny — it  is  soon  read  : 

“  I  hope  papa  will  excuse  me  ;  I  have  nothing  to  write 
about  to-day.” 

Over  and  over  again,  I  have  tried  to  point  out  to  my 
sister  the  absurdity  of  calling  her  father  by  the  infantile 
nickname  of  papa.  I  have  reminded  her  that  she  is  (in 
years  at  least)  no  longer  a  child. 

“Why  don’t  you  call  him  father,  as  I  do  ?  ”  I  asked, 
only  the  other  day. 

She  made  an  absurd  reply  :  “  I  used  to  call  him  papa 
when  I  was  a  little  girl.” 

“  That,”  I  reminded  her,  “  doesn’t  justify  you  in  calling 
him  papa  now.” 

And  she  actually  answered:  “Yes,  it  does.”  What  a 
strange  state  of  mind  !  And  what  a  charming  girl,  in 
spite  of  her  mind  ! 

THIRD  DAY. 

The  morning  post  has  brought  with  it  a  promise  of  some 
little  variety  in  our  lives — or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  in 
the  life  of  my  sister. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


45 


Our  new  and  nice  friends,  the  Staveleys,  have  written 
to  invite  Eunice  to  pay  them  a  visit  at  their  house  in 
London.  I  don’t  complain  of  being  left  at  home.  It 
would  be  unfilial  indeed  if  we  both  of  us  forsook  our 
father  ;  and,  last  year,  it  was  my  turn  to  receive  the  first 
invitation,  and  to  enjoy  the  change  of  scene.  The  Stave- 
leys  are  excellent  people  ;  strictly  pious  members  of  the 
Wesleyan  persuasion,  and  exceedingly  kind  to  my  sister 
and  me.  But  it  was  just  as  well  for  my  moral  welfare 
that  I  ended  my  visit  to  our  friends  when  I  did.  With  my 
fondness  for  music,  I  felt  the  temptation  of  the  Evil  One 
trying  me,  when  I  saw  placards  in  the  street  announcing 
that  the  Italian  opera  was  open.  I  had  no  wish  to  be  a 
witness  of  the  shameful  and  sinful  dancing  which  goes  on 
(I  am  told)  at  the  opera  ;  but  I  did  feel  my  principles 
shaken  when  I  thought  of  the  wonderful  singers  and  the 
entrancing  music.  And  this,  when  I  knew  what  an  at¬ 
mosphere  of  wickedness  people  breathe  who  enter  a 
theatre!  I  reflect  with  horror  on  what  might  have  hap¬ 
pened,  if  I  had  remained  a  little  longer  in  London. 

Helping  Eunice  to  pack  up,  I  put  her  Journal  into  the 
box. 

“You  will  find  something  to  write  about  now,”  I  told 
her.  “While  I  record  everything  that  happens  at  home, 
you  will  keep  your  diary  of  all  that  you  do  in  London — 
and,  when  you  come  back,  we  will  show  each  other  what 
we  have  written.”  My  sister  is  a  dear  creature.  “  I  don’t 
feel  sure  of  being  able  to  do  it,”  she  answered  ;  “  but  I 
promise  to  try.”  Good  Eunice  ! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Eunice’s  diary. 

The  air  of  London  feels  very  heavy.  There  is  a  nasty 
smell  of  smoke  in  London.  There  are  too  many  people 
in  London.  They  seem  to  be  mostly  people  in  a  hurry. 
The  head  of  a  country  girl,  when  she  goes  into  the  streets, 
turns  giddy — I  suppose  through  not  being  used  to  the 
noise. 

I  do  hope  that  it  is  London  that  has  put  me  out  of  tem¬ 
per.  Otherwise,  it  must  be  I  myself  who  am  ill-tempered. 
I  have  not  yet  been  one  whole  day  in  the  Staveleys’  house 


46 


THE  LEGACY  OE  CAW. 


— and  they  have  offended  me  already.  I  don’t  want 
Helena  to  hear  of  this  from  other  people,  and  then  to  ask 
me  why  I  concealed  it  from  her.  We  are  to  read  each 
other’s  journals  when  we  are  both  at  home  again.  Let 
her  see  what  I  have  to  say  for  myself  here. 

There  are  seven  Staveleys  in  all  :  Mr.  and  Mrs.  (two)  ; 
three  young  Masters  (five) ;  two  young  Misses  (seven).  An 
eldest  Miss  and  a  second  young  Master  are  the  only  ones 
at  home  at  the  present  time. 

Mr.,  Mrs.,  and  Miss  kissed  me  when  I  arrived.  Young- 
Master  only  shook  hands.  He  looked  as  if  he  would  have 
liked  to  kiss  me  too.  Why  shouldn’t  he  ?  It  wouldn’t 
have  mattered.  I  don’t  myself  like  kissing.  What  is  the 
use  of  it  ?  Where  is  the  pleasure  of  it  ? 

Mrs.  was  so  glad  to  see  me,  she  took  hold  of  me  by 
both  hands.  She  said  :  “  My  dear  child,  you  are  improv¬ 
ing.  You  were  wretchedly  thin  when  I  saw  you  last. 
Now  you  are  almost  as  well  developed  as  your  sister.” 
Mr.  didn’t  agree  to  that.  He  and  his  wife  began  to  dis¬ 
pute  about  me  before  my  face.  I  do  call  that  an  aggra¬ 
vating  thing  to  endure. 

Mr.  said  :  “  She  hasn’t  got  her  sister’s  pretty  gray 
eyes.” 

Mrs.  said  :  “  She  has  got  pretty  brown  eyes,  which  are 

just  as  good.” 

Mr.  said  :  “  You  can’t  compare  her  complexion  with 

Helena’s.” 

Mrs.  said  :  “  I  like  Eunice’s  pale  complexion.  So  deli¬ 
cate.” 

Young  Miss  struck  in  :  “I  admire  Helena’s  hair —  light 
brown.” 

Young  Master  took  his  turn  :  “I  prefer  Eunice’s  hair — 
dark  brown.” 

Mr.  opened  his  great  big  mouth  and  asked  a  question  : 
“  Which  of  you  two  sisters  is  the  oldest  ?  I  forget.” 

Mrs.  answered  for  me  :  “  Helena  is  the  oldest  ;  she 

told  us  so  when  she  was  here  last.” 

I  really  could  not  stand  that.  “  You  must  be  mistaken,” 
I  burst  out. 

“Certainly  not,  my  dear.” 

“  Then  Helena  was  mistaken.”  I  was  unwilling  to  say 
of  my  sister  that  she  had  been  deceiving  them,  though  it 
did  seem  only  too  likely. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  looked  at  each  other.  Mrs.  said  :  “You 
seem  to  be  very  positive,  Eunice.  Surely,  Helena  ought 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


47 


to  know.”  I  said  :  “  Helena  knows  a  good  deal,  but  she 
doesn’t  know  which  of  us  is  the  oldest  of  the  two.” 

Mr.  put  in  another  question  :  “  Do  you  know  ?  ” 

“  No  more  than  Helena  does.” 

Mrs.  said  :  “  Don’t  you  keep  birthdays  ?  ” 

I  said  :  “Yes  ;  we  keep  both  our  birthdays  on  the  same 
day.” 

“On  what  day ? ” 

“  The  first  day  of  the  new  year.” 

Mr.  tried  again  :  “You  can’t  possibly  be  twins  ?” 

“  I  don’t  know.” 

“Perhaps  Helena  knows?” 

“  Not  she  !  ” 

Mrs.  took  the  next  question  out  of  her  husband’s  mouth  : 
“  Come,  come,  my  dear!  you  must  know  how  old  you  are.” 

“Yes,  I  do  know  that.  I’m  eighteen.” 

“  And  how  old  is  Helena  ?  ” 

“Helena’s  eighteen.” 

Mrs.  turned  round  to  Mr.:  “  Do  you  hear  that  !  ” 

Mr.  said:  “I  shall  write  to  her  father,  and  ask  what  it 
means.”  I  said  :  “  Papa  will  only  tell  you  what  he  told  us 
— years  ago.” 

“  What  did  your  father  say  ?  ” 

“  He  said  he  added  our  two  ages  together,  and  he  meant 
to  divide  the  product  between  us.  It’s  so  long  since,  I 
don’t  remember  what  the  product  was  then.  But  I’ll  tell 
you  what  the  product  is  now.  Our  two  ages  come  to 
thirty-six.  Half  thirty-six  is  eighteen.  I  get  one  half, 
and  Helena  gets  the  other.  When  we  ask  what  it  means, 
and  when  friends  ask  what  it  means,  papa  has  got  the 
same  answer  for  everybody,  ‘  I  have  my  reason.5  That’s 
all  he  says — and  that’s  all  I  say.” 

I  had  no  intention  of  making  Mr.  angry,  but  he  did  get 
angry.  He  left  off  speaking  to  me  by  my  Christian  name  ; 
he  called  me  by  my  surname.  He  said:  “Let  me  tell 
you,  Miss  Gracedieu,  it  is  not  becoming  in  a  young  lady  to 
mystify  her  elders.” 

I  had  heard  that  it  was  respectful  in  a  young  lady  to  call 
an  old  gentleman  “  sir,”  and  to  say,  “  If  you  please.”  I  took 
care  to  be  respectful  now.  “If  you  please,  sir,  write  to 
papa.  You  will  find  that  I  have  spoken  the  truth.” 

A  woman  opened  the  door,  and  said  to  Mrs.  Staveley : 
“  Dinner,  ma’am.”  That  stopped  this  nasty  exhibition  of 
our  tempers.  We  had  a  very  good  dinner. 


48 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALM 


The  next  day  I  wrote  to  Helena,  asking  her  what  she 
had  really  said  to  the  Staveleys  about  her  age  and  mine, 
and  telling  her  what  I  had  said.  I  found  it  too  great  a  trial 
of  my  patience  to  wait  till  she  could  see  what  I  had  written 
about  the  dispute  in  my  journal.  The  days,  since  then, 
have  passed,  and  I  have  been  too  lazy  and  stupid  to  keep 
my  diary. 

To-day,  it  is  different.  My  head  is  like  a  dark  room 
with  the  light  let  into  it.  I  remember  things  ;  I  think  I 
can  go  on  again. 

We  have  religious  exercises  in  this  house,  morning 
and  evening,  just  as  we  do  at  home.  (Not  to  be  com¬ 
pared  with  papa’s  religious  services.)  Two  days  ago  his 
answer  came  to  Mr.  Staveley’s  letter.  He  did  just  what  I 
had  expected — said  I  had  spoken  truly,  and  disappointed 
the  family  by  asking  to  be  excused  if  he  refrained  from 
entering  into  explanations.  Mr.  said  :  “Very  odd  and 
Mrs.  agreed  with  him.  Young  Miss  is  not  quite  as 
friendly  now,  as  she  was  at  first.  And  young  Master  was 
impudent  enough  to  ask  me  if  “  I  had  got  religion.” 
To  conclude  the  list  of  my  worries,  I  received  an  angry 
answer  from  Helena.  “Nobody  but  a  simpleton,”  she 
wrote,  “would  have  contradicted  me  as  you  did.  Who 
but  you  could  have  failed  to  see  that  papa’s  strange  ob¬ 
jection  to  let  it  be  known  which  of  us  is  the  elder  makes 
us  ridiculous  before  other  people  ?  My  presence  of  mind 
prevented  that.  You  ought  to  have  been  grateful,  and 
held  your  tongue.”  Perhaps  Helena  is  right — but  I  don’t 
feel  it  so. 

On  Sunday,  we  went  to  chapel  twice.  We  also  had  a 
sermon  read  at  home,  and  a  cold  dinner.  In  the  even¬ 
ing,  a  hot  dispute  on  religion  between  Mr.  Staveley  and 
his  son.  I  don’t  blame  them.  After  being  pious  all  day 
long  on  Sunday,  I  have  myself  felt  my  piety  give  way 
toward  evening. 

There  is  something  pleasant  in  prospect  for  to-morrow. 
All  London  is  going  just  now  to  the  exhibition  of  pictures. 
We  are  going  with  all  London. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

I  don’t  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me  to-night.  I 
have  positively  been  to  bed  without  going  to  sleep  ! 
After  tossing  and  twisting  and  trying  all  sorts  of  positions, 
I  am  so  angry  with  myself  that  I  have  got  up  again. 
Rather  than  do  nothing  I  have  opened  my  ink-bottle  and 
I  mean  to  go  on  with  my  journal. 


THE  LEGACY  GF  CAIN. 


49 


Now  I  think  of  it,  it  seems  likely  that  the  exhibition  of 
works  of  art  may  have  upset  me. 

I  found  a  dreadfully  large  number  of  pictures,  matched 
by  a  dreadfully  large  number  of  people  to  look  at  them. 
It  is  not  possible  for  me  to  write  about  what  I  saw  ;  there 
was  too  much  of  it.  Besides,  the  show  disappointed  me. 
I  would  rather  write  about  a  disagreement  (oh  dear,  an¬ 
other  dispute!)  I  had  with  Mrs.  Staveley.  The  cause  of  it 
was  a  famous  artist  ;  not  himself,  but  his  works.  He  ex¬ 
hibited  four  picture  subjects — what  they  call  figure  sub¬ 
jects.  Mrs.  Staveley  had  a  pencil.  At  every  one  of  the 
great  man’s  four  pictures  she  made  a  big  mark  of  admi¬ 
ration  on  her  catalogue.  At  the  fourth  one,  she  spoke  to 
me  :  “  Perfectly  beautiful,  Eunice,  isn’t  it  ?  ” 

I  said  I  didn’t  know.  She  said:  “You  strange  girl, 
what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  ” 

It  would  have  been  rude  not  to  have  given  the  best  an¬ 
swer  I  could  find.  I  said  :  “  I  never  saw  the  flesh  of  any 
person’s  face  like  the  flesh  in  the  faces  which  that  man 
paints.  He  reminds  me  of  wax-work.  Why  does  he 
paint  the  same  waxy  flesh  in  all  four  of  his  pictures  ?  I 
don’t  see  the  same  colored  flesh  in  all  the  faces  about  us.” 

Mrs.  Staveley  held  up  her  hand,  by  way  of  stopping  me. 
She  said  :  “  Don’t  speak  so  loud,  Eunice  ;  you  are  only  ex¬ 
posing  your  own  ignorance.” 

A  voice  behind  us  joined  in.  The  voice  said  :  “Excuse 
me,  Mrs.  Staveley,  if  I  expose  my  ignorance.  I  entirely 
agree  with  the  young  lady.” 

I  felt  grateful  to  the  person  who  took  my  part,  just  when 
I  was  at  a  loss  what  to  say  for  myself,  and  I  looked  round. 
The  person  was  a  young  gentleman. 

He  wore  a  beautiful  blue  frock-coat,  buttoned  up.  I 
like  a  frock-coat  to  be  buttoned  up.  He  had  light-colored 
trousers  and  gray  gloves  and  a  pretty  cane.  I  like  light- 
colored  trousers  and  gray  gloves  and  a  pretty  cane.  What 
color  his  eyes  were  is  more  than  I  can  say  ;  I  only  know 
they  made  me  hot  when  they  looked  at  me.  Not  that  I 
mind  being  made  hot ;  it  is  surely  better  than  being  made 
cold.  He  and  Mrs.  Staveley  shook  hands. 

They  seemed  to  be  old  friends.  I  wished  I  had  been  an 
old  friend — not  for  any  bad  reason,  I  hope.  I  only  wanted 
to  shake  hands,  too.  What  Mrs.  Staveley  said  to  him  es¬ 
caped  me  somehow.  I  think  the  pictures  escaped  me  also  ; 
I  don’t  remember  noticing  anything  except  the  young 
gentleman,  especially  when  he  took  off  his  hat  to  me.  He 


5o  THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 

looked  at  me  twice  before  he  went  away.  I  got  hot  again. 
I  said  to  Mrs.  Staveley  :  “Who  is  he  ?” 

She  laughed  at  me.  I  said  again  :  “  Who  is  he  ?  ”  She 
said  :  “  He  is  young  Mr.  Dunboyne.”  1  said  :  “Does  he 
live  in  London?”  She  laughed  again.  I  said  again: 
“Does  he  live  in  London  ?  ”  She  said  :  “  He  is  here  for  a 
holiday  ;  he  lives  with  his  father  at  Fairmount  in  Ireland.” 

Young  Mr.  Dunboyne — here  for  a  holiday — lives  with 
his  father  at  Fairmount  in  Ireland.  I  have  said  that  to 
myself  fifty  times  over.  And  here  it  is,  saying  itself  for 
the  fifty-first  time  in  my  journal.  I  must  indeed  be  a  sim¬ 
pleton,  as  Helena  says.  I  had  better  go  to  bed  again. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Eunice’s  diary. 

Not  long  before  I  left  home  I  heard  one  of  our  two  ser¬ 
vants  telling  the  other  about  a  person  who  had  been  “  be¬ 
witched.”  Are  you  bewitched  when  you  don’t  understand 
your  own  self  ?  That  has  been  my  curious  case,  since  I 
returned  from  the  picture-show.  This  morning  I  took  my 
drawing  materials  out  of  my  box,  and  tried  to  make  a  por¬ 
trait  of  young  Mr.  Dunboyne  from  recollection.  I  suc¬ 
ceeded  pretty  well  with  his  frock-coat  and  cane;  but,  try 
as  I  might,  his  face  was  beyond  me.  I  have  never  drawn 
anything  so  badly  since  I  was  a  little  girl ;  I  almost  felt 
ready  to  cry.  What  a  fool  I  am  ! 

This  morning  I  received  a  letter  from  papa — it  was  in 
reply  to  a  letter  that  I  had  written  to  him — so  kind,  so 
beautifully  expressed,  so  like  himself  that  I  felt  inclined 
to  send  him  a  confession  of  the  strange  state  of  feeling 
that  has  come  over  me.  On  second  thoughts,  I  was  afraid 
to  do  it.  Afraid  of  papa  !  I  am  further  away  from  under¬ 
standing  myself  than  ever. 

Mr.  Dunboyne  paid  us  a  visit  in  the  afternoon.  Fortu¬ 
nately,  before  we  went  out. 

I  thought  I  would  have  a  good  look  at  him  ;  so  as  to 
know  his  face  better  than  I  had  known  it  yet.  Another 
disappointment  was  in  store  for  me.  Without  intending 
it,  I  am  sure,  he  did  what  no  other  young  man  has  ever 
done— he  made  me  feel  confused.  Instead  of  looking  at 
mm,  1  sat  with  my  head  down,  and  listened  to  his  talk. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


51 

His  voice — this  is  high  praise — reminded  me  of  papa’s 
voice.  It  seemed  to  persuade  me  as  papa  persuades  his 
congregation.  I  felt  quite  at  ease  again.  When  he  went 
away,  we  shook  hands.  He  gave  my  hand  a  little  squeeze. 
I  gave  him  back  the  squeeze — without  knowing  why.  I 
wished  I  had  not  done  it — without  knowing  why,  either. 

I  heard  his  Christian  name  for  the  first  time,  to-day. 
Mrs.  Staveley  said  to  me  :  “  We  are  going  to  have,  a  dinner 
party.  Shall  I  ask  Philip  Dunboyne  ?  ”  I  said  to  Mrs. 
Staveley,  “  Oh,  do  !  ” 

She  is  an  old  woman  ;  her  eyes  are  dim.  At  times  she 
can  look  mischievous.  She  looked  at  me  mischievously 
now.  I  wished  I  had  not  been  so  eager  to  have  Mr.  Dun¬ 
boyne  asked  to  dinner.  A  fear  has  come  to  me  that  I  may 
have  degraded  myself.  My  spirits  are  depressed.  This, 
as  papa  tells  us  in  his  sermons,  is  a  miserable  world.  I  am 
sorry  I  accepted  the  Staveleys’  invitation.  I  am  sorry  I 
went  to  see  the  pictures.  When  that  young  man  comes 
to  dinner,  I  shall  say  I  have  got  a  headache,  and  shall  stop 
upstairs  by  myself.  I  don’t  think  I  like  his  Christian 
name.  I  hate  London.  I  hate  everybody. 

What  I  wrote  up  above,  yesterday,  is  nonsense.  I  think 
his  Christian  name  is  perfect.  I  like  London.  I  love 
everybody. 

Lie  came  to  dinner  to-day.  I  sat  next  to  him.  How 
beautiful  a  dress-coat  is,  and  a  white  cravat  !  We  talked. 
He  wanted  to  know  what  my  Christian  name  was.  I  was 
so  pleased  when  I  found  he  was  one  of  the  few  people 
who  like  it.  His  hair  curls  naturally.  In  color  it  is  some¬ 
thing  between  my  hair  and  Helena’s.  He  wears  his  beard. 
How  manly  !  It  curls  naturally,  like  his  hair  ;  it  smells 
deliciously  of  some  perfume  which  is  new  to  me.  He  has 
white  hands  ;  his  nails  look  as  if  he  polished  them  ;  I 
should  like  to  polish  my  nails,  if  I  knew  how.  Whatever 
I  said,  he  agreed  with  me  ;  I  felt  satisfied  with  my  own 
conversation  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.  Helena  won’t 
find  me  a  simpleton  when  I  go  home.  What  exquisite 
things  dinner-parties  are  ! 

My  sister  told  me  (when  we  said  good-by)  to  be  particu¬ 
lar  in  writing  down  my  true  opinion  of  the  Staveleys. 
Llelena  wishes  to  compare  what  she  thinks  of  them  with 
what  I  think  of  them. 

My  opinion  of  Mr.  Staveley  is — I  don’t  like  him.  My 
opinion  of  Miss  Staveley  is — I  can’t  endure  her.  As  for 
Master  Staveley,  my  clever  sister  will  understand  that  he 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, 


52 

is  beneath  notice.  But,  oh,  what  a  wonderful  woman  Mrs. 
Staveley  is  !  We  went  out  together,  after  luncheon  to-day, 
for  a  walk  in  Kensington  Gardens.  Never  have  I  heard 
any  conversation  to  compare  with  Mrs.  Staveley’s.  Hel¬ 
ena  shall  enjoy  it  here,  at  second  hand.  I  am  quite 
changed  in  two  things.  First,  I  think  more  of  myself 
than  I  ever  did  before.  Second,  writing  is  no  longer  a 
difficulty  to  me.  I  could  fill  a  hundred  journals  without 
once  stopping  to  think. 

Mrs.  Staveley  began  nicely  :  “  I  suppose,  Eunice,  you 
have  often  been  told  that  you  have  a  good  figure,  and  that 
you  walk  well  ?  ” 

I  said  :  “  Helena  thinks  my  figure  is  better  than  my  face. 
But  do  I  really  walk  well  ?  Nobody  ever  told  me  that.” 

She  answered  :  “  Philip  Dunboyne  thinks  so.  He  said 
to  me,  ‘  I  resist  the  temptation,  because  I  might  be  want¬ 
ing  in  respect  if  I  gave  way  to  it.  But  I  should  like  to 
follow  her  when  she  goes  out — merely  for  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  her  walk.’  ” 

I  stood  stock-still.  I  said  nothing.  When  you  are  as 
proud  as  a  peacock  (which  never  happened  to  me  before), 
I  find  you  can’t  move  and  can’t  talk.  You  can  only  enjoy 
yourself. 

Kind  Mrs.  Staveley  had  more  things  to  tell  me.  She 
said  :  “  I  am  interested  in  Philip.  I  lived  near  Fairmount 
in  the  time  before  I  was  married  ;  and  in  those  days  he 
was  a  child.  I  want  him  to  marry  a  charming  girl  and 
be  happy.” 

What  made  me  think  directly  of  Miss  Staveley  ?  What 
made  me  mad  to  know  if  she  was  the  charming  girl  ?  I 
was  bold  enough  to  ask  the  question.  Mrs.  Staveley  turned 
to  me,  with  that  mischievous  look  which  I  have  noticed 
already.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  running  at  the  top  of 
my  speed,  and  had  not  got  my  breath  again,  yet. 

But  this  good  motherly  friend  set  me  at  my  ease.  She 
explained  herself  :  “  Philip  is  not  much  liked,  poor  fellow, 
in  our  house.  My  husband  considers  him  to  be  weak  and 
vain  and  fickle.  And  my  daughter  agrees  with  her  father. 
There  are  times  when  she  is  barely  civil  to  Philip.  He  is 
too  good-natured  to  complain,  but  I  see  it.  Tell  me,  my 
dear,  do  you  like  Philip  ?  ” 

“  Of  course,  I  do  !  ”  Out  it  came  in  those  words,  before 
I  could  stop  it.  Was  there  something  unbecoming  to  a 
young  lady  in  saying  what  I  had  just  said?  Mrs.  Stave¬ 
ley  seemed  to  be  more  amused  than  angry  with  me.  She 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALK. 


53 


took  my  arm  kindly,  and  led  me  along  with  her.  “  My 
dear,  you  are  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  as  true  as  steel.  You 
are  a  favorite  of  mine  already.” 

What  a  delightful  woman,  as  I  said  just  now.  I  asked 
if  she  really  liked  me  as  well  as  she  liked  my  sister. 

She  said  :  “  Better.” 

I  didn’t  expect  that,  and  didn’t  want  it.  Helena  is  my 
superior.  She  is  prettier  than  I  am,  cleverer  than  I  am, 
better  worth  liking  than  I  am.  Mrs.  Staveley  shifted  the 
talk  back  to  Philip.  I  ought  to  have  said  Mr.  Philip. 
No,  I  won’t.  I  shall  call  him  Philip.  If  I  had  a  heart  of 
stone,  I  should  feel  interested  in  him,  after  what  Mrs. 
Staveley  has  told  me. 

Such  a  sad  story,  in  some  respects.  Mother,  broth¬ 
ers,  sisters — all  dead.  Only  the  father  left ;  and  he  lives  a 
dismal  life  on  a  lonely,  stormy  coast.  Not  a  severe  old 
gentleman,  for  all  that.  His  reasons  for  taking  to  retire¬ 
ment  are  reasons  (so  Mr.  Staveley  says)  which  nobody 
knows.  He  buries  himself  among  his  books  in  an  im¬ 
mense  library  ;  and  he  appears  to  like  it.  His  son  has 
not  been  brought  up,  like  other  young  men,  at  school  and 
college.  He  is  a  great  scholar,  educated  at  home  by  his 
father.  To  hear  this  account  of  his  learning  depressed 
me.  It  seemed  to  put  such  a  distance  between  us.  I 
asked  Mrs.  Staveley  if  she  thought  me  ignorant.  As  long 
as  I  live  I  shall  remember  the  reply  :  “  He  thinks  you 
charming.” 

Any  other  girl  would  have  been  satisfied  with  this.  I 
am  the  miserable  creature  who  is  always  making  mistakes. 
My  stupid  curiosity  spoilt  the  charm  of  Mrs.  Staveley’s  con¬ 
versation.  And  yet  it  seemed  to  be  a  harmless  question  ;  I 
only  said  I  should  like  to  know  what  profession  Philip  be¬ 
longed  to. 

Mrs.  Staveley  answered:  “No  profession.” 

I  foolishlv  put  a  wrong  meaning  on  this.  I  said  :  “  Is 
he  idle?” 

Mrs.  Staveley  laughed.  “  My  dear,  he  is  an  only  son — 
and  his  father  is  a  rich  man.” 

That  stopped  me — at  last. 

We  have  enough  to  live  on  in  comfort  at  home — no 
more.  Papa  has  told  us  himself  that  he  is  not  (and  can 
never  hope  to  be)  a  rich  man.  And  this  is  not  the  worst 
of  it.  Last  year  he  refused  to  marry  a  young  couple, 
both  belonging  to  our  congregation.  This  was  very  un¬ 
like  his  usual  kind  self.  Helena  and  I  asked  him  for  his 


54 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CATV. 


reasons.  They  were  reasons  that  did  not  take  long  to  give. 
The  young  gentleman’s  father  was  a  rich  man.  He  had 
forbidden  his  son  to  marry  a  sweet  girl — because  she  had 
no  fortune. 

I  have  no  fortune.  And  Philip’s  father  is  a  very  rich 
man. 

The  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  wipe  my  pen,  and  shut  my 
journal,  and  go  home  by  the  next  train. 

•  ••«••*  •• 

I  have  a  great  mind  to  burn  my  journal.  It  tells  me 
that  I  had  better  not  think  of  Philip  any  more. 

On  second  thoughts  I  won’t  destroy  my  journal  ;  I  will 
only  put  it  away.  If  I  live  to  be  an  old  woman,  it  may 
amuse  me  to  open  my  book  again,  and  see  how  foolish  the 
poor  wretch  was  when  she  was  young. 

What  is  this  aching  pain  in  my  heart  ? 

I  don’t  remember  it  at  any  other  time  in  my  life.  Is  it 
trouble  ?  How  can  I  tell  ? — I  have  had  so  little  trouble. 
It  must  be  many  years  since  I  was  wretched  enough  to 
cry.  I  don’t  even  understand  why  I  am  crying  now.  My 
last  sorrow,  so  far  as  I  can  remember,  was  the  toothache. 
Other  girls’  mothers  comfort  them  when  they  are  wretched. 
If  my  mother  had  lived — it’s  useless  to  think  about  that. 
We  lost  her  while  I  and  my  sister  were  too  young  to  un¬ 
derstand  our  misfortune. 

I  wish  I  had  never  seen  Philip. 

This  seems  an  ungrateful  wish.  Seeing  him  at  the  pict¬ 
ure-show  was  a  new  enjoyment.  Sitting  next  to  him  at 
dinner  was  a  happiness  that  I  don’t  recollect  feeling,  even 
when  papa  has  been  most  sweet  and  kind  to  me.  I  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  myself  to  confess  this.  Shall  I  write  to 
my  sister?  But  how  should  she  know  what  is  the  matter 
with  me,  when  I  don’t  know  it  myself?  Besides,  Helena 
is  angry  ;  she  wrote  unkindly  to  me  when  she  answered 
my  last  letter. 

There  is  a  dreadful  loneliness  in  this  great  house  at  night. 
I  had  better  say  my  prayers,  and  try  to  sleep.  If  it  doesn’t 
make  me  feel  happier,  it  will  prevent  my  spoiling  my 
journal  by  dropping  tears  on  it. 

•••••••* 

What  an  evening  of  evenings  this  has  been  !  Last  night 

it  was  crying  that  kept  me  awake.  To-night  I  can’t  sleep 
for  joy. 

Philip  called  on  us  again  to-day.  He  brought  with  him 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


5$ 


tickets  for  the  performance  of  an  oratorio.  Sacred  music 
is  not  forbidden  music  among  our  people.  Mrs.  Staveley 
and  Miss  Staveley  went  to  the  concert  with  us.  Philip  and 
I  sat  next  to  each  other. 

My  sister  is  a  musician — I  am  nothing.  That  sounds 
bitter,  but  I  don’t  mean  it  so.  All  I  mean  is,  that  I  like 
simple  little  songs,  which  I  can  sing  to  myself  by  remem¬ 
bering  the  tune.  There  my  musical  enjoyment  ends. 
When  voices  and  instruments  burst  out  together  by  hun¬ 
dreds  I  feel  bewildered.  I  also  get  attacked  by  fidgets. 
This  last  misfortune  is  sure  to  overtake  me  when  choruses 
are  being  performed.  The  unfortunate  people  employed 
are  made  to  keep  singing  the  same  words  over  and  over 
and  over  again,  till  I  find  it  a  perfect  misery  to  listen  to 
them.  The  choruses  were  unendurable  in  the  performance 
to-night.  This  is  one  of  them  :  “  Here  we  are  all  alone  in 
the  wilderness — alone  in  the  wilderness — in  the  wilderness, 
alone,  alone,  alone — here  we  are  in  the  wilderness — alone  in 
the  wilderness — all  alone  in  the  wilderness,”  and  so  on,  till 
I  felt  inclined  to  call  for  the  learned  person  who  writes 
oratorios  and  beg  him  to  give  the  poor  music  a  more  gen¬ 
erous  allowance  of  words. 

Whenever  I  looked  at  Philip  I  found  him  looking  at  me. 
Perhaps  he  saw  from  the  first  that  the  music  was  wearying 
music  to  my  ignorant  ears.  With  his  usual  delicacy  he 
said  nothing  for  some  time.  But  when  he  caught  me 
yawning  (though  I  did  my  best  to  hide  it,  for  it  looked 
like  being  ungrateful  for  the  tickets),  then  he  could  re¬ 
strain  himself  no  longer.  He  whispered  in  my  ear  : 

“You  are  getting  tired  of  this.  And  so  am  I.” 

“  I  am  trying  to  like  it,”  I  whispered  back. 

“Don’t  try,”  he  answered.  “Let’s  talk.” 

He  meant,  of  course,  talk  in  whispers.  We  were  a  good 
deal  annoyed — especially  when  the  characters  were  all 
alone  in  the  wilderness — by  bursts  of  singing  and  playing 
which  interrupted  us  at  the  most  interesting  moments. 
Philip  persevered  with  a  manly  firmness.  What  could  I 
do  but  follow  his  example — at  a  distance  ? 

He  said  :  “  Is  it  really  true  that  your  visit  to  Mrs.  Stave¬ 
ley  is  coming  to  an  end  ?  ” 

I  answered  :  “It  comes  to  an  end  the  day  after  to¬ 
morrow.” 

“Are  you  sorry  to  be  leaving  your  friends  in  London?” 

What  I  might  have  said  if  he  had  made  that  inquiry  a 
day  earlier,  when  I  was  the  most  miserable  creature  living, 


56 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


I  would  rather  not  try  to  guess.  Being  quite  happy  as 
things  were,  I  could  honestly  tell  him  I  was  sorry. 

“You  can’t  possibly  be  as  sorry  as  I  am,  Eunice.  May 
I  call  you  by  your  pretty  name  ?” 

“Yes,  if  you  please.” 

“  Eunice  !  ” 

“Yes?” 

“You  will  leave  a  blank  in  my  life  when  you  go 
away - ” 

There  another  chorus  stopped  him,  just  as  I  was  eager 
for  more.  It  was  such  a  delightfully  new  sensation  to 
hear  a  young  gentleman  telling  me  that  I  had  left  a  blank 
in  his  life.  The  next  change  in  the  oratorio  brought  up  a 
young  lady,  singing  alone.  Some  people  behind  us  grum¬ 
bled  at  the  smallness  of  her  voice.  We  thought  her  voice 
perfect.  It  seemed  to  lend  itself  so  nicely  to  our  whis¬ 
pers. 

He  said :  “  Will  you  help  me  to  think  of  you  while  you 
are  away?  I  want  to  imagine  what  your  life  is  at  home. 
Do  you  live  in  a  town  or  in  the  country  ?”  I  told  him  the 
name  of  our  town.  When  we  give  a  person  information, 
I  have  always  heard  that  we  ought  to  make  it  complete. 
So  I  mentioned  our  address  in  the  town.  But  I  was  trou¬ 
bled  by  a  doubt.  Perhaps  he  preferred  the  country.  Be¬ 
ing  anxious  about  this,  I  said:  “Would  you  rather  have 
heard  that  I  live  in  the  country?” 

“Live  where  you  may,  Eunice,  the  place  will  be  a  fav¬ 
orite  place  of  mine.  Besides,  your  town  is  famous.  It 
has  a  public  attraction  which  brings  visitors  to  it.” 

I  made  another  of  those  mistakes  which  no  sensible  girl 
in  my  position  would  have  committed.  I  asked  if  he  al¬ 
luded  to  our  new  market-place. 

He  set  me  right  in  the  sweetest  manner  :  “  I  allude  to  a 
building  hundreds  of  years  older  than  your  market-place 
—your  beautiful  cathedral.” 

Fancy  my  not  having  thought  of  the  cathedral !  This 
is  what  comes  of  being  a  Wesleyan  Methodist.  If  I  had 
belonged  to  the  Church  of  England,  I  should  have  for¬ 
gotten  the  market-place  and  remembered  the  cathedral. 
Not  that  I  want  to  belong  to  the  Church  of  England. 
Papa’s  chapel  is  good  enough  for  me. 

I  he  song  sung  by  the  lady  with  the  small  voice  was  so 
pretty  that  the  audience  encored  it.  Didn’t  Philip  and  I 
help  them  !  With  the  sweetest  smiles  the  lady  sang  it  all 
over  again.  The  people  behind  us  left  the  concert. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, \ 


57 


He  said  :  “  Do  you  know,  I  take  the  greatest  interest  in 
cathedrals?  I  propose  to  enjoy  the  privilege  and  pleasure 
of  seeing  your  cathedral  early  next  week.” 

I  had  only  to  look  at  him  to  see  that  I  was  the  cathedral. 
It  was  no  surprise  to  hear  next  that  he  thought  of  “  pay¬ 
ing  his  respects  to  Mr.  Gracedieu.”  He  begged  me  to 
tell  him  what  sort  of  reception  he  might  hope  to  meet 
with  when  he  called  at  our  house.  1  got  so  excited  in  do¬ 
ing  justice  to  papa  that  I  quite  forgot  to  whisper  when  the 
next  question  came.  Philip  wanted  to  know  if  Mr.  Grace¬ 
dieu  disliked  strangers.  When  I  answered,  “  Oh,  dear, 
no!”  I  said  it  out  loud,  so  that  the  people  heard  me. 
Cruel,  cruel  people  !  They  all  turned  round  and  stared. 
One  hideous  old  woman  actually  said,  “  Silence  !  ”  Miss 
Staveley  looked  disgusted.  Even  kind  Mrs.  Staveley  lifted 
her  eyebrows  in  astonishment. 

Philip,  dear  Philip,  protected  and  composed  me. 

He  held  my  hand  devotedly  till  the  end  of  the  perform¬ 
ance.  When  he  put  us  into  the  carriage  I  was  last.  He 
whispered  in  my  ear :  “  Expect  me  next  week.”  Miss 
Staveley  might  be  as  ill-natured  as  she  pleased  on  the  way 
home.  It  didn’t  matter  what  she  said.  The  Eunice  of 
yesterday  might  have  been  mortified  and  offended.  The 
Eunice  of  to-day  was  indifferent  to  the  sharpest  things 
that  could  be  said  to  her. 


All  through  yesterday’s  delightful  evening  I  never  once 
thought  of  Philip’s  father.  When  I  woke  this  morning  I 
remembered  that  old  Mr.  Dunboyne  was  a  rich  man.  I 
could  eat  no  breakast  for  thinking  of  the  poor  girl  who 
was  not  allowed  to  marry  her  young  gentleman  because 
she  had  no  money. 

Mrs.  Staveley  waited  to  speak  to  me  till  the  rest  of  them 
had  left  us  together.  I  had  expected  her  to  notice  that  I 
looked  dull  and  dismal.  No  !  her  cleverness  got  at  my 
secret  in  quite  another  way. 

She  said:  “Flow  do  you  feel  after  the  concert?  You 
must  be  hard  to  please  indeed,  if  you  were  not  satisfied 
with  the  accompaniments  last  night.” 

“  The  accompaniments  of  the  oratorio?” 

“No,  my  dear.  The  accompaniments  of  Philip.’’ 

I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  laughed.  In  my  miserable 
state  of  mind  it  was  not  to  be  done.  I  said  :  “  I  hope  Mr. 
Dunboyne’s  father  will  not  hear  how  kind  he  was  to  me.” 


5§ 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


Mrs.  Staveley  asked  why. 

My  bitterness  overflowed  at  my  tongue.  I  said  :  “  Be¬ 
cause  papa  is  a  poor  man.” 

“And  Philip’s  papa  is  a  rich  man,”  says  Mrs.  Staveley, 
putting  my  own  thought  into  words  for  me.  “  Where  do 
you  get  these  ideas,  Eunice  ?  Surely  you  are  not  allowed 
to  read  novels  ?  ” 

“Oh,  no!” 

“  And  you  have  certainly  never  seen  a  play  ?  ” 

“Never.” 

“  Clear  your  head,  child,  of  the  nonsense  that  has  got 
into  it — I  can’t  think  how.  Rich  Mr.  Dunboyne  has  taught 
his  heir  to  despise  the  base  act  of  marrying  for  money. 
He  knows  that  Philip  will  meet  young  ladies  at  my  house  ; 
and  he  has  written  to  me  on  the  subject  of  his  son’s  choice 
of  a  wife.  *  Let  Philip  find  good  principles,  good  temper, 
and  good  looks  ;  and  I  promise  beforehand  to  find  the 
money.’  There  is  what  lie  says.  Are  you  satisfied  with 
Philip’s  father  now  ?  ” 

I  jumped  up  in  a  state  of  ecstasy.  Just  as  I  had  thrown 
my  arms  around  Mrs.  Staveley’s  neck  the  servant  came  in 
with  a  letter  and  handed  it  to  me. 

Helena  had  written  again,  on  this  last  day  of  my  visit. 
Her  letter  was  full  of  instructions  for  buying  things  that 
she  wants  before  I  leave  London.  I  read  on  quietly 
enough  until  I  came  to  the  postscript.  The  effect  of  it  on 
me  may  be  told  in  two  words  :  I  screamed.  Mrs.  Staveley 
wras  naturally  alarmed.  “  Bad  news  ?”  she  asked.  Being 
quite  unable  to  offer  an  opinion,  I  read  the  postscript  out 
loud,  and  left  her  to  judge  for  herself. 

This  was  Helena’s  news  from  home  : 

“I  must  prepare  you  for  a  surprise  before  your  return. 
You  will  find  a  strange  lady  established  at  home.  Don’t 
suppose  there  is  any  prospect  of  her  bidding  us  good-by  if 
we  only  wait  long  enough.  She  is  already  as  much  a  mem¬ 
ber  of  the  family  as  we  are.  You  shall  form  your  own  un¬ 
biased  opinion  of  her,  Eunice.  For  the  present,  I  say  no 
more.” 

I  asked  Mrs.  Staveley  what  she  thought  of  my  news  from 
home.  She  said  :  “  Bad  news,  my  dear — especially  if  your 
father  is  concerned  in  it.” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


59 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Helena’s  diary. 

To-day  I  went  as  usual  to  the  Scripture  class  for  girls, 
it  was  harder  work  than  ever,  teaching  without  Eunice  to 
help  me.  Indeed,  I  felt  lonely  all  day  without  my  sister. 
When  I  got  home,  I  rather  hoped  that  some  friend  might 
have  come  to  see  us,  and  have  been  asked  to  stay  to  tea. 
The  housemaid  opened  the  door  to  me.  I  asked  Maria  if 
anybody  had  called. 

“Yes,  miss  ;  a  lady  to  see  the  master.” 

“  A  stranger  ?  ” 

“  Never  saw  her  before,  miss,  in  all  my  life.” 

I  put  no  more  questions.  Many  ladies  visit  my  father. 
They  call  it  consulting  the  Minister.  He  advises  them  in 
their  troubles  and  guides  them  in  their  religious  difficulties, 
and  so  on.  They  come  and  go  in  a  sort  of  secrecy.  So  far 
as  I  know  they  are  mostly  old  maids,  and  they  waste  the 
Minister’s  time. 

When  my  father  came  into  tea,  I  began  to  feel  some 
curiosity  about  the  lady  who  had  called  on  him.  Visitors 
of  that  sort,  in  general,  never  appear  to  dwell  on  his  mind 
after  they  have  gone  away  ;  he  sees  too  many  of  them,  and 
is  too  well  accustomed  to  what  they  have  to  say.  On  this 
particular  evening,  however,  I  perceived  appearances  that 
set  me  thinking  ;  he  looked  worried  and  anxious. 

“  Has  anything  happened,  father,  to  vex  you  ?”  I  said. 

“Yes.” 

“  Is  the  lady  concerned  in  it  ?  ” 

“  What  lady,  my  dear  ?  ” 

“  The  lady  who  called  on  you  while  I  was  out.” 

“  Who  told  you  she  had  called  on  me  ?  ” 

“  I  asked  Martha -  ” 

“That  will  do,  Helena,  for  the  present.” 

He  drank  his  tea  and  went  back  to  his  study,  instead  of 
staying  awhile  and  talking  pleasantly  as  usual.  My  re¬ 
spect  submitted  to  his  want  of  confidence  in  me  ;  but  my 
curiosity  was  in  a  state  of  revolt.  I  sent  for  Maria,  and 
proceeded  to  make  my  own  discoveries,  with  this  result  : 

No  other  person  had  called  at  the  house.  Nothing  had 
happened,  except  the  visit  of  the  mysterious  lady.  “  She 
looked  between  young  and  old.  And,  oh,  dear  me,  she 


6o 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


was  certainly  not  pretty.  Not  dressed  nicely,  to  my 
mind  ;  but  they  do  say  dress  is  a  matter  of  taste.”  Try  as 
I  might  I  could  get  no  more  than  that  out  of  our  stupid 
young  housemaid. 

Later  in  the  evening  the  cook  had  occasion  to  consult 
me  about  supper.  This  was  a  person  possessing  the  ad¬ 
vantages  of  age  and  experience.  I  asked  if  she  had  seen 
the  lady.  The  cook’s  reply  promised  something  new  ;  “  I 
can’t  say  I  saw  the  lady  ;  but  I  heard  her.” 

“  Do  you  mean  that  you  heard  her  speaking  ?  ” 

“No,  Miss — crying.” 

“  Where  was  she  crying  ?  ” 

“  In  the  master’s  study.” 

“  How  did  you  come  to  hear  her  ?” 

“Am  I  to  understand,  Miss,  that  you  suspect  me  of  lis¬ 
tening  ?  ” 

Is  a  lie  told  by  a  look  as  bad  as  a  lie  told  by  words  ?  I 
looked  shocked  at  the  bare  idea  of  suspecting  a  respecta¬ 
ble  person  of  listening.  The  cook’s  sense  of  honor  was 
satisfied  ;  she  readily  explained  herself.  “  I  was  passing 
the  door,  Miss,  on  my  way  up-stairs.” 

Here  my  discoveries  came  to  an  end.  It  was  certainly 
possible  that  an  afflicted  member  of  my  father’s  congrega¬ 
tion  might  have  called  on  him  to  be  comforted.  But  he 
sees  plenty  of  afflicted  ladies,  without  looking  worried  and 
anxious  after  they  leave  him.  Still  suspecting  something 
out  of  the  ordinary  course  of  events,  I  waited  hopefully 
for  our  next  meeting  at  supper-time.  Nothing  came  of 
it.  My  father  left  me  by  myself  again,  when  the  meal 
was  over.  He  is  always  courteous  to  his  daughters  ;  and 
he  made  an  apology  :  “  Excuse  me,  Helena,  I  want  to 
think.” 

I  went  to  bed  in  a  vile  humor,  and  slept  badly,  wonder¬ 
ing,  in  the  long  wakeful  hours,  what  new  rebuff  I  should 
meet  with  on  the  next  day. 


At  breakfast  this  morning  I  was  agreeably  surprised. 
No  signs  of  anxiety  showed  themselves  in  my  father’s  face. 
Instead  of  retiring  to  his  study  when  we  rose  from  the 
table,  he  proposed  taking  a  turn  in  the  garden.  “You  are 
looking  pale,  Helena,  and  you  will  be  the  better  for  a  lit¬ 
tle  fresh  air.  Besides,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.” 

Excitement,  I  am  sure,  is  good  for  young  women.  I 
saw  in  his  face,  T  heard  in  his  last  words,  that  the  mystery 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, \ 


61 


of  the  lady  was  at  last  to  be  revealed.  The  sensation  of 
languor  and  fatigue  which  follows  a  disturbed  night  left 
me  directly. 

My  father  gave  me  his  arm,  and  we  walked  slowly  up 
and  down  the  lawn. 

“When  that  lady  called  on  me  yesterday,”  he  began, 
“you  wanted  to  know  who  she  was,  and  you  were  sur¬ 
prised  and  disappointed  when  I  refused  to  gratify  your 
curiosity.  My  silence  was  not  a  selfish  silence,  Helena. 
I  was  thinking  of  you  and  your  sister  ;  and  I  was  at  a  loss 
how  to  act  for  the  best.  You  shall  hear  why  my  children 
were  in  my  mind,  presently.  I  must  tell  you  first  that  I 
have  arrived  at  a  decision  :  I  hope  and  believe  on  reason¬ 
able  grounds.  Ask  me  any  questions  you  please  ;  my  si¬ 
lence  will  be  no  longer  an  obstacle  in  your  way.” 

This  was  so  very  encouraging  that  I  said  at  once  :  “  I 
should  like  to  know  who  the  lady  is.” 

“The  lady  is  related  to  me,”  he  answered.  “We  are 
cousins.” 

Here  was  a  disclosure  that  I  had  not  anticipated.  In 
the  little  that  I  have  seen  of  the  world,  I  have  observed 
that  cousins — when  they  happen  to  be  brought  together 
under  interesting  circumstances — can  remember  their  re¬ 
lationship  and  forget  their  relationship,  just  as  it  suits 
them.  “  Is  your  cousin  a  married  lady  ?  ”  I  ventured  to 
inquire. 

“  No.” 

Short  as  it  was,  that  reply  might,  perhaps,  mean  more 
than  appeared  on  the  surface.  My  father’s  allusions  to 
Eunice  and  to  me,  when  he  was  explaining  himself,  were 
a  little  mysterious.  Besides,  the  cook  had  heard  the  lady 
crying.  What  sort  of  tender  agitation  was  answerable  for 
those  tears  ?  Was  it  possible,  barely  possible,  that  Eunice 
and  I  might  go  to  bed  one  night  a  widower’s  daughters 
and  wake  up  the  next  day  to  discover  a  step-mother? 

“  Have  I,  or  my  sister,  ever  seen  the  lady  ?  ”  I  asked. 

“  Never  !  She  has  been  living  abroad  ;  and  I  have  not 
seen  her  myself,  since  we  were  both  young  people.” 

My  excellent,  innocent  father  !  Not  the  faintest  idea  of 
what  I  had  been  thinking  of  was  in  his  mind.  Little  did 
he  suspect  how  welcome  was  the  relief  that  he  had  af¬ 
forded  to  his  daughter’s  wicked  doubts  of  him.  But  he 
had  not  said  a  word,  yet,  about  his  cousin’s  personal  ap¬ 
pearance.  There  might  be  remains  of  good  looks  which 
the  housemaid  was  too  stupid  to  discover. 


62 


77 IE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


“  After  the  long  interval  that  has  passed  since  you  met,” 
I  said,  “  I  suppose  she  has  become  an  old  woman  ?  ” 

“No,  my  dear.  Let  us  say  a  middle-aged  woman.” 

“  Perhaps  she  is  still  an  attractive  person  ?  ” 

He  smiled.  “  I  am  afraid,  Helena,  that  would  never 
have  been  a  very  accurate  description  of  her.” 

I  now  knew  all  that  I  wanted  to  know  about  this  alarm¬ 
ing  person,  excepting  one  last  morsel  of  information 
which  my  father  had  strangely  forgotten. 

“We  have  been  talking  about  the  lady  for  some  time,” 
I  said,  “  and  you  have  not  yet  told  me  her  name.” 

Father  looked  a  little  embarrassed.  “  It’s  not  a  very 
pretty  name,”  he  answered.  “My  cousin,  my  unfortu¬ 
nate  cousin,  is — Miss  Jillgall.” 

I  burst  out  with  such  a  loud  “Oh  !  ”  that  he  laughed.  I 
caught  the  infection  and  laughed  louder  still.  Bless  Miss 
Jillgall.  The  interview  promised  to  become  an  easy  one 
for  both  of  us,  thanks  -to  her  name.  I  was  in  good  spirits 
and  I  made  no  attempt  to  restrain  them.  “  The  next 
time  Miss  Jillgall  honors  you  with  a  visit,”  I  said,  “you 
must  give  me  an  opportunity  of  being  presented  to  her.” 

He  made  a  strange  reply  :  “You  may  find  your  oppor¬ 
tunity,  Helena,  sooner  than  you  anticipate.” 

Did  this  mean  that  she  was  going  to  call  again  in  a  day 
or  two  ?  I  am  afraid  I  spoke  flippantly.  I  said  :  “  Oh, 
father,  another  lady  fascinated  by  the  popular  preacher.” 

The  garden  chairs  were  near  us.  He  signed  to  me 
gravely  to  be  seated  by  his  side,  and  said  to  himself  : 
“  This  is  my  fault.” 

“  What  is  your  fault  ?  ”  I  asked. 

“  I  have  left  you  in  ignorance,  my  dear,  of  my  cousin’s 
sad  story.  It  is  soon  told  ;  and,  if  it  checks  your  merri¬ 
ment,  it  will  make  amends  by  deserving  your  sympathy. 
I  was  indebted  to  her  father,  when  I  was  a  boy,  for  acts  of 
kindness  which  I  can  never  forget.  He  was  twice  mar¬ 
ried.  The  death  of  his  first  wife  left  him  with  one  child 
— once  my  playfellow  ;  now  the  lady  whose  visit  has  ex¬ 
cited  your  curiosity.  His  second  wife  was  a  Belgian. 
She  persuaded  him  to  sell  his  business  in  London,  and  in¬ 
vest  the  money  in  a  partnership  with  a  brother  of  her’s, 
established  as  a  sugar  refiner  at  Antwerp.  The  little 
daughter  accompanied  her  father  to  Belgium.  Are  you 
attending  to  me,  Helena  ?  ” 

I  was  waiting  for  the  interesting  part  of  the  story,  and 
was  wondering  when  he  would  get  to  it. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


63 

“  As  time  went  on,”  he  resumed,  “  the  new  partner  found 
that  the  value  of  the  business  at  Antwerp  had  been  greatly 
overrated.  After  a  long  struggle  with  adverse  circum¬ 
stances,  he  decided  on  withdrawing  from  the  partnership 
before  the  whole  of  his  capital  was  lost  in  a  failing  com¬ 
mercial  speculation.  The  end  of  it  was  that  he  retired, 
with  his  daughter,  to  a  small  town  in  East  Flanders  ;  the 
wreck  of  his  property  having  left  him  with  an  income  of 
no  more  than  ^200  a  year.” 

I  showed  my  father  that  I  was  attending  to  him  now,  by 
inquiring  what  had  become  of  the  Belgian  wife.  Those 
nervous  quiverings,  which  Eunice  has  mentioned  in  her 
diary,  began  to  appear  in  his  face. 

“  It  is  too  shameful  a  story,”  he  said,  “to  be  told  to  a 
young  girl.  The  marriage  was  dissolved  by  law  ;  and  the 
wife  was  the  person  to  blame.  I  am  sure,  Helena,  you 
don’t  wish  to  hear  any  more  of  this  part  of  the  story.” 

I  did  wish.  But  I  saw  that  he  expected  me  to  say  no — 
so  I  said  it. 

“  The  father  and  daughter,”  he  went  on,  “  never  so  much 
as  thought  of  returning  to  their  own  country.  They  were 
too  poor  to  live  comfortably  in  England.  In  Belgium 
their  income  was  sufficient  for  their  wants.  On  the  fa¬ 
ther's  death,  the  daughter  remained  in  the  town.  She  had 
friends  there,  and  friends  nowhere  else  ;  and  she  might 
have  lived  abroad  to  the  end  of  her  days,  but  for  a  calam¬ 
ity  to  which  we  are  all  liable.  A  long  and  serious  illness 
completely  prostrated  her.  Skilled  medical  attendance, 
costing  large  sums  of  money  for  the  doctors’  travelling  ex¬ 
penses,  was  imperatively  required.  Experienced  nurses, 
summoned  from  a  distant  hospital,  were  in  attendance 
night  and  day.  Luxuries,  far  beyond  the  reach  of  her  lit¬ 
tle  income,  were  absolutely  required  to  support  her  wasted 
strength  at  the  time  of  her  tedious  recovery.  In  one  word, 
her  resources  were  sadly  diminished,  when  the  poor  creat¬ 
ure  had  paid  her  debts,  and  had  regained  her  hold  on  life. 
At  that  time,  she  unhappily  met  with  the  man  who  has 
ruined  her.” 

It  was  getting  interesting  at  last.  “  Ruined  her?”  I  re¬ 
peated.  “  Do  you  mean  that  he  robbed  her?” 

“That,  Helena,  is  exactly  what  I  mean — and  many  and 
many  a  helpless  woman  has  been  robbed  in  the  same  way. 
The  man  of  whom  I  am  now  speaking  was  a  lawyer  in 
large  practice.  He  bore  an  excellent  character,  and  was 
highly  respected  for  his  exemplary  life.  My  cousin  (not 


64 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


at  all  a  discreet  person,  I  am  bound  to  admit)  was  induced 
to  consult  him  on  her  pecuniary  affairs.  He  expressed 
the  most  generous  sympathy — offered  to  employ  her  little 
capital  in  his  business — and  pledged  himself  to  pay  her 
double  the  interest  for  her  money,  which  she  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  receiving  from  the  sound  investment  chosen 
by  her  father.” 

“And  of  course  he  got  the  money  and  never  paid  the 
interest  ?”  Eager  to  hear  the  end  I  interrupted  the  story 
in  those  inconsiderate  words.  My  father’s  answer  quietly 
reproved  me  : 

“  He  paid  the  interest  regularly  as  long  as  he  lived.” 

“And  what  happened  when  he  died?” 

“  He  died  a  bankrupt ;  the  secret  profligacy  of  his  life 
was  at  last  exposed.  Nothing,  actually  nothing  was  left 
for  his  creditors.  The  unfortunate  creature,  whose  ugly 
name  has  amused  you,  must  get  help  somewhere,  or  must 
go  to  the  workhouse.” 

If  I  had  been  in  a  state  of  mind  to  attend  to  trifles,  this 
would  have  explained  the  reason  why  the  cook  had  heard 
Miss  J illga.ll  crying.  But  the  prospect  before  me — the 
unendurable  prospect  of  having  a  strange  woman  in  the 
house — had  showed  itself  too  plainly  to  be  mistaken.  I 
could  think  of  nothing  else.  With  infinite  difficulty  I  as¬ 
sumed  a  momentary  appearance  of  composure,  and  sug¬ 
gested  that  Miss  Jillgall’s  foreign  friends  might  have  done 
something  to  help  her. 

My  father  defended  her  foreign  friends. 

“  My  dear,  they  were  poor  people,  and  did  all  they 
could  afford  to  do.  But  for  their  kindness  my  cousin 
might  not  have  been  able  to  return  to  England.” 

“And  to  cast  herself  on  your  mercy,”  I  added,  “in  the 
character  of  a  helpless  woman.” 

“No,  Helena  !  Not  to  cast  herself  on  my  mercy— but 
to  find  my  house  open  to  her,  as  her  father’s  house  was 
open  to  me,  in  the  bygone  time.  I  am  her  only  surviving 
relative  ;  and,  while  I  live,  she  shall  not  be  a  helpless  wo¬ 
man.” 

I  began  to  wish  that  I  had  not  spoken  out  so  plainly 
My  father’s  sweet  temper — I  do  so  sincerely  wish  I  had 
inherited  it ! — made  the  kindest  allowances  for  me. 

“  I  understand  the  momentary  bitterness  of  feeling  that 
has  escaped  you,”  he  said  ;  “I  may  almost  say  that  I  ex¬ 
pected  it.  My  only  hesitation  in  this  matter  has  been 
caused  by  my  sense  of  what  I  owe  to  my  children.  It 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CATV. 


65 


was  putting  your  endurance,  and  your  sister’s  endurance, 
to  a  trial  to  expect  you  to  receive  a  stranger  (and  that 
stranger  not  a  young  girl  like  yourselves)  as  one  of  the 
household,  living  with  you  in  the  closest  intimacy  of  fam¬ 
ily  life.  The  consideration  which  has  decided  me  does 
justice,  I  hope,  to  you  and  Eunice,  as  well  as  to  myself. 
I  think  that  some  allowance  is  due  from  my  daughters  to 
the  father  who  has  always  made  loving  allowance  for 
them.  Am  I  wrong  in  believing  that  my  good  children 
have  not  forgotten  this,  and  have  only  waited  for  the  oc¬ 
casion  to  feel  the  pleasure  of  rewarding  me  ?” 

It  was  beautifully  put.  There  was  but  one  thing  to  be 
done— I  kissed  him!  And  there  was  but  one  thing  to  be 
said.  I  asked  at  what  time  we  might  expect  to  receive 
Miss  Jillgall. 

“  She  is  staying,  Helena,  at  a  small  hotel  in  the  town, 
I  have  already  sent  to  say  that  we  are  waiting  to  see  her. 
Perhaps  you  will  look  at  the  spare  bedroom  ?  ” 

“  It  shall  be  got  ready,  father,  directly.” 

I  ran  into  the  house  ;  I  rushed  up-stairs  into  the  room 
that  is  Eunice’s  and  mine  ;  I  locked  the  door  and  then  I 
gave  way  to  my  rage,  before  it  stifled  me.  I  stamped  on 
the  floor,  I  clenched  my  fists,  I  cast  myself  on  the  bed,  I 
reviled  that  hateful  woman  by  every  hard  word  I  could 
throw  at  her.  Oh,  the  luxury  of  it  !  the  luxury  of  it  ! 

Cold  water  and  my  hairbrush  soon  made  me  fit  to  be 
seen  again. 

As  for  the  spare  room,  it  looked  a  great  deal  too  com¬ 
fortable  for  an  incubus  from  foreign  parts.  The  one  im¬ 
provement  that  I  could  have  made,  if  a  friend  of  mine 
was  expected,  was  suggested  by  the  window  curtains.  I 
was  looking  at  a  torn  place  in  one  of  them,  and  determin¬ 
ing  to  leave  it  unrepaired,  when  I  felt  an  arm  slipped 
round  my  waist  from  behind.  A  voice,  so  close  that  it 
tickled  my  neck,  said  ;  “  Dear  girl,  what  friends  we 
shall  be!”  I  turned  round,  and  confronted  Miss  Jill¬ 
gall. 


5 


66 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


CHAPTER  XV, 

Helena’s  diary. 

If  I  am  not  a  good  girl,  where  is  a  good  girl  to  be 
found  ?  This  is  in  Eunice’s  style.  It  sometimes  amuses 
me  to  mimic  my  simple  sister. 

I  have  just  torn  three  pages  out  of  my  diary,  in  defer¬ 
ence  to  the  expression  of  my  father’s  wishes.  Pie  took 
the  first  opportunity  which  his  cousin  permitted  him  to 
enjoy  of  speaking  to  me  privately;  and  his  object  was  to 
caution  me  against  hastily  relying  on  first  impressions  of 
anybody — especially  of  Miss  Jillgall.  “Wait  for  a  day  or 
two,”  he  said  ;  “  and  then  form  your  estimate  of  the  new 
member  of  our  household.” 

The  stormy  state  of  my  temper  had  passed  away,  and 
had  left  my  atmosphere  calm  again.  I  could  feel  that  I 
had  received  good  advice  ;  but  unluckily  it  reached  me 
too  late. 

I  had  formed  my  estimate  of  Miss  Jillgall,  and  had  put 
it  in  writing  for  my  own  satisfaction,  at  least  an  hour  be¬ 
fore  my  father  found  himself  at  liberty  to  speak  to  me. 
I  don’t  agree  witlj  him  in  distrusting  first  impressions,  and 
I  had  proposed  to  put  my  opinion  to  the  test,  by  referring 
to  what  I  had  written  about  his  cousin  at  a  later  time. 
However,  after  what  he  had  said  to  me,  I  felt  bound  in 
filial  duty  to  take  thq  pages  out  of  my  book,  and  to  let 
two  days  pass  before  I  presumed  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of 
hating  Miss  Jillgall. 

On  one  thing  I  am  determined:  Eunice  shall  not  form 
a  hasty  opinion,  either.  She  shall  undergo  the  same  se¬ 
vere  discipline  of  self-restraint  to  which  her  sister  is 
obliged  to  submit.  Let  us  be  just,  as  somebody  says,  be¬ 
fore  we  are  generous.  No  more  for  to-day. 

•  •  ••••••# 

I  open  my  diary  again — after  the  prescribed  interval 
has  elapsed.  The  first  impression  produced  on  me  by  the 
new  member  of  our  household  remains  entirely  un¬ 
changed. 

Have  I  already  made  the  remark  that,  when  one  re¬ 
moves  a  page  from  a  book,  it  does  not  necessarily  follow 
that  one  destroys  the  page  afterward  ?  Or  did  I  leave 
this  to  be  inferred?  In  either  case,  my  course  of  proceed- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


67 


ing  was  the  same.  I  ordered  some  paste  to  be  made. 
Then  I  unlocked  a  drawer,  and  found  my  poor  ill-used 
leaves,  and  put  them  back  in  my  journal.  An  act  of  jus¬ 
tice  is  surely  not  the  less  praiseworthy  because  it  is  an  act 
of  justice  done  to  one’s  self. 

My  father  has  often  told  me  that  he  revises  his  writings 
on  religious  subjects.  I  may  harmlessly  imitate  that  good 
example  by  revising  my  restored  entry.  It  is  now  a  suffi¬ 
ciently  remarkable  performance  to  be  distinguished  by  a 
title.  Let  me  call  it : 

IMPRESSIONS  OF  MISS  JILLGALL. 

My  first  impression  was  a  strong  one — it  was  produced 
by  the  state  of  this  lady’s  breath.  In  other  words,  I  was 
obliged  to  let  her  kiss  me.  It  is  a  duty  to  be  considerate 
toward  human  infirmity.  I  will  only  say  that  I  thought 
I  should  have  fainted. 

My  second  impression  draws  a  portrait,  and  produces  a 
striking  likeness. 

Figure,  little  and  lean — hair  of  the  dirty  drab  color  which 
we  see  in  string — small  light  gray  eyes,  sly  and  restless, 
and  deeply  sunk  in  the  head — prominent  cheek-bones,  and 
a  florid  complexion — an  inquisitive  nose,  turning  up  at  the 
end — a  large  mouth  and  a  servile  smile — raw-looking 
hands,  decorated  with  black  mittens — a  misfitting  white 
jacket  and  a  limp  skirt — manners  familiar — temper  cleverly 
hidden — voice  too  irrigating  to  be  mentioned.  Whose  por¬ 
trait  is  this  ?  It  is  the  photograph  of  Miss  Jillgall,  taken 
in  words. 

Her  true  character  is  not  easy  to  discover  ;  I  suspect 
that  it  will  only  show  itself  little  by  little.  That  she  is  a 
born  meddler  in  other  people’s  affairs,  I  think  I  can  see 
already.  I  also  found  out  that  she  trusted  to  flattery  as 
the  easiest  means  of  making  herself  agreeable.  She  tried 
her  first  experiment  on  myself. 

“You  charming  girl,”  she  began,  “your  bright  face  en¬ 
courages  me  to  ask  a  favor.  Pray  make  me  useful!  The 
one  aspiration  of  my  life  is  to  be  useful.  Unless  you  em¬ 
ploy  me  in  that  way  I  have  no  right  to  intrude  myself  into 
your  family  circle.  Yes,  yes,  I  know  that  your  father  has 
opened  his  house  and  his  heart  to  me.  But  I  dare  not 
found  any  claim — your  name  is  Helena,  isn’t  it  ?  Dear 
Helena,  I  dare  not  found  any  claim  on  what  I  owe  to  your 
father’s  kindness.” 


68 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


“  Why  not  ?  ”  I  inquired. 

“  Because  your  father  is  not  a  man - ” 

I  was  rude  enough  to  interrupt  her.  “  Wbat  is  hev 
then  ?  ”  ' 

“  An  angel,”  Miss  Jillgall  answered,  solemnly.  “  A  desti¬ 
tute  earthly  creature  like  me  must  not  look  up  as  high  as 
your  father.  I  might  be  dazzled.” 

This  was  rather  more  than  I  could  endure  patiently. 
“  Let  us  try,”  I  suggested,  “  if  we  can’t  understand  each 
other  at  starting.” 

Miss  Jillgall’s  little  eyes  twinkled  in  their  bony  caverns. 
“  The  very  thing  I  was  going  to  propose !  ”  she  burst  out. 

“Very  well,”  I  went  on  ;  “then  let  me  tell  you  plainly 
that  flattery  is  not  relished  in  this  house.” 

“  Flattery  ?  ”  She  put  her  hand  to  her  head  as  she  re¬ 
peated  the  word,  and  looked  quite  bewildered.  “  Dear 
Helena,  I  have  lived  all  my  life  in  East  Flanders,  and  my 
own  language  is  occasionally  strange  to  me.  Can  you  tell 
me  what  flattery  is  in  Flemish  ?  ” 

“  I  don’t  understand  Flemish.” 

“  How  very  provoking  !  You  don’t  understand  Flem¬ 
ish,  and  I  don’t  understand  Flattery.  I  should  so  like  to 
know  what  it  means.  Ah,  I  see  books  in  this  lovely  room. 
Is  there  a  dictionary  among  them  ?  ”  She  darted  to  the 
book-case,  and  discovered  a  dictionary.  “  Now  I  shall  un¬ 
derstand  Flattery,”  she  remarked — “and  then  we  shall  un¬ 
derstand  each  other.  Oh,  let  me  find  it  for  myself !  ”  She 
ran  her  raw,  red  finger  along  the  alphabetical  headings  at 
the  top  of  each  page.  “‘FA  D.’  That  won’t  do.  ‘FIE.’ 
Farther  on  still.  ‘F  L  E.’  Too  far  the  other  way. 
F  L  A.’  Here  we  are.  ‘  Flattery  :  False  praise.  Com¬ 
mendation  bestowed  for  the  purpose  of  gaining  favor  and 
influence.’  Oh,  Helena,  how  cruel  of  you  !  ”  She  dropped 
the  book  and  sank  into  a  chair — the  picture,  if  such  a 
thing  can  be,  of  a  broken-hearted  old  maid. 

I  should  most  assuredly  have  taken  the  opportunity  of 
leaving  her  to  her  own  devices,  if  I  had  been  free  to  act 
as  I  pleased.  But  my  interests  as  a  daughter  forbade  me 
to  make  an  enemy  of  my  father’s  cousin  on  the  first  day 
when  she  had  entered  the  house.  I  made  an  apology, 
very  neatly  expressed. 

She  jumped  up — let  me  do  her  justice  ;  Miss  Jillgall  is 
as  nimble  as  a  monkey — and  (faugh !)  she  kissed  me  for 
the  second  time.  If  I  had  been  a  man  I  am  afraid  I 
should  have'  called  for  that  deadly  poison  (we  are  all  tern- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN.  69 

perance  people  in  this  house)  known  by  the  name  of 
brandy. 

“  If  you  will  make  me  love  you,”  Miss  Jillgall  explained, 
“  you  must  expect  to  be  kissed.  Dear  girl,  let  us  go  back 
to  my  poor  little  petition.  Oh,  do  make  me  useful !  There 
are  so  many  things  I  can  do  :  you  will  find  me  a  treasure 
in  the  house.  I  write  a  good  hand  ;  I  understand  polish¬ 
ing  furniture  ;  I  can  dress  hair  (look  at  my  own  hair)  ;  I 
play  and  sing  a  little  when  people  want  to  be  amused  ;  I 
can  mix  a  salad  and  knit  stockings — who  is  this  ?  ”  The 
cook  came  in,  at  the  moment,  to  consult  me  ;  I  introduced 
her.  “And,  oh,”  cried  Miss  Jillgall,  in  ecstasy,  “I  can 
cook  !  Do,  please,  let  me  see  the  kitchen.” 

The  cook’s  face  turned  red.  She  had  come  to  me  to 
make  a  confession  ;  and  she  had  not  (as  she  afterward 
said)  bargained  for  the  presence  of  a  stranger.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  took  the  liberty  of  whispering 
to  me  :  “  I  must  ask  you,  miss,  to  let  me  send  up  the 
cauliflower  plain  boiled  ;  I  don’t  understand  the  directions 
in  the  book  for  doing  it  in  the  foreign  way.” 

Miss  Jillgall’s  ears — perhaps  because  they  are  so  large 
— possess  a  quickness  of  hearing  quite  unparalleled  in  my 
experience.  Not  one  word  of  the  cook’s  whispered  con¬ 
fession  had  escaped  her. 

“  Here,”  she  declared,  “  is  an  opportunity  of  making  my¬ 
self  useful !  What  is  the  cook’s  name  ?  Hannah  ?  Take 
me  down-stairs,  Hannah,  and  I’ll  show  you  how  to  do  the 
cauliflower  in  the  foreign  way.  She  seems  to  hesitate.  Is 
it  possible  that  she  doesn’t  believe  me  ?  Listen,  Hannah, 
and  judge  for  yourself  if  I  am  deceiving  you.  Have  you 
boiled  the  cauliflower  ?  Very  well  ;  this  is  what  you  must 
do  next.  Take  four  ounces  of  grated  cheese,  two  ounces 
of  best  butter,  the  yolks  of  four  eggs,  a  little  bit  of  glaze, 
lemon- juice,  nutmeg — dear,  dear,  how  black  she  looks  ! 
What  have  I  said  to  offend  her  ?  ” 

The  cook  passed  over  the  lady  who  had  presumed  to  in¬ 
struct  her,  as  if  no  such  person  had  been  present,  and  ad¬ 
dressed  herself  to  me  :  “  If  I  am  to  be  interfered  with  in 
my  own  kitchen,  miss,  I  will  ask  you  to  suit  yourself  at  a 
month’s  notice.” 

Miss  Jillgall  wrung  her  hands  in  despair. 

“  I  meant  so  kindly,”  she  said  ;  “  and  I  seem  to  have  made 
mischief.  With  the  best  intentions,  Helena,  I  have  set  you 
and  your  servant  at  variance.  I  really  didn’t  know  you 
had  sugh  a  temper,  Hannah,”  she  declared,  following  the 


70 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. . 


cook  to  the  door.  “  I’m  sure  there’s  nothing  I  am  not 
ready  to  do  to  make  it  up  with  you.  Perhaps  you  have 
not  got  the  cheese  down-stairs  ?  I’m  ready  to  go  out  and 
buy  it  for  you.  I  could  show  you  how  to  keep  eggs  sweet 
and  fresh  for  weeks  together.  Your  gown  doesn’t  fit  very 
well  ;  I  shall  be  glad  to  improve  it,  if  you  will  leave  it  out 
for  me  after  you  have  gone  to  bed.  There  !  ”  cried  Miss 
Jillgall,  as  the  cook  majestically  left  the  room,  without  even 
looking  at  her,  “  I  have  done  my  best  to  make  it  up,  and 
you  see  how  my  advances  are  received.  What  more  could 
I  have  done  ?  I  really  ask  you,  dear,  as  a  friend,  what  more 
could  I  have  done  ?  ” 

I  had  it  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  to  say  :  “  The  cook 
doesn’t  ask  you  to  buy  cheese  for  her,  or  to  teach  her  how 
to  keep  eggs,  or  to  improve  the  fit  of  her  gown  ;  all  she 
wants  is  to  have  her  kitchen  to  herself.”  But  here  again 
it  was  necessary  to  remember  that  this  odious  person  was 
my  father’s  guest, 

“  Pray  don’t  distress  yourself,”  I  began  ;  “  I  am  sure  you 
are  not  to  blame,  Miss  Jillgall- - ” 

“Oh,  don’t!” 

“  Don’t — what  ?” 

“Don’t  call  me  Miss  Jillgall.  I  call  you  Helena.  Call 
me  Selina.” 

I  had  really  not  supposed  it  possible  that  she  could  be 
more  unendurable  than  ever.  When  she  mentioned  her 
Christian  name,  she  succeeded,  nevertheless,  in  producing 
that  result.  In  the  whole  list  of  women’s  names,  is  there 
any  one  to  be  found  so  absolutely  sickening  as  ‘Selina’  F 
I  forced  myself  to  pronounce  it  ;  I  made  another  neatly 
expressed  apology  ;  I  said  English  servants  were  so  very 
peculiar.  Selina  was  more  than  satisfied  ;  she  was  quite 
delighted. 

“  Is  that  it,  indeed  ?  An  explanation  was  all  I  wanted. 
How  good  of  you  !  And  now  tell  me — is  there  no  chance, 
in  the  house  or  out  of  the  house,  of  my  making  myself 
useful  ?  Oh,  what’s  that  ?  Do  I  see  a  chance  ?  I  do  !  I 
do!” 

Miss  Jillgall’s  eyes  are  more  than  mortal.  At  one  time 
they  are  microscopes.  At  another  time  they  are  telescopes. 
She  discovered  (right  across  the  room)  the  torn  place  in 
the  window  curtain.  In  an  instant  she  snatched  a  dirty 
little  leather  case  out  of  her  pocket,  threaded  her  needle, 
and  began  darning  the  curtain.  She  sang  over  her  work. 
“  My  heart  is  light,  my  will  is  free — ”  I  can  repeat  no 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


7* 


more  of  it.  When  I  heard  her  singing  voice,  I  became 
reckless  of  consequences,  and  ran  out  of  the  room  with  my 
hands  over  my  ears. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

When  I  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs  my  father  called 
me  into  his  study. 

I  found  him  at  his  writing-table,  with  such  a  heap  of 
torn-up  paper  in  his  waste-basket  that  it  overflowed  on  to 
the  floor.  He  explained  to  me  that  he  had  been  destroy¬ 
ing  a  large  accumulation  of  old  letters,  and  had  ended 
(when  his  employment  began  to  grow  wearisome)  in  ex¬ 
amining  his  correspondence  rather  carelessly.  The  result 
was  that  he  had  torn  up  a  letter,  and  a  copy  of  the  reply, 
which  ought  to  have  been  set  aside  as  worthy  of  preserva¬ 
tion.  After  collecting  the  fragments,  lie  had  heaped  them 
on  the  table.  If  I  could  contrive  to  put  them  together 
again  on  fair  sheets  of  paper,  and  fasten  them  in  their  right 
places  with  gum,  I  should  be  doing  him  a  service,  at  a  time 
when  he  was  too  busy  to  set  his  tnistake  right  for  himself. 

Here  was  the  best  excuse  that  I  could  desire  for  keep¬ 
ing  out  of  Miss  Jillgall’s  way.  I  cheerfully  set  to  work  on 
the  restoration  of  the  letters,  while  my  father  went  on  with 
his  writing. 

Having  put  the  fragments  together — excepting  a  few 
gaps  caused  by  morsels  that  had  been  lost — I  was  unwill¬ 
ing  to  fasten  them  down  with  gum,  until  I  could  feel  sure 
of  not  having  made  any  mistakes  ;  especially  in  regard  to 
some  of  the  lost  words  which  I  had  been  obliged  to  restore 
by  guess-work.  So  I  copied  the  letters,  and  submitted 
them,  in  the  first  place,  to  my  father’s  approval. 

He  praised  me  in  the  prettiest  manner  for  the  care  that 
I  had  taken.  But  when  he  began,  after  some  hesitation, 
to  read  my  copy,  I  noticed  a  change.  The  smile  left  his 
face,  and  the  nervous  quiverings  showed  themselves 
again. 

“Quite  right,  my  child,”  he  said,  in  low,  sad  tones. 

On  returning  to  my  side  of  the  table  I  expected  to  see 
him  resume  his  writing.  He  crossed  the  room  to  the  win¬ 
dow  and  stood,  with  his  back  to  me,  looking  out. 

When  I  had  first  discovered  the  sense  of  the  letters,  they 
failed  to  interest  me.  A  tiresome  woman,  presuming  on 


72 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


the  kindness  of  a  good-natured  man  to  beg  a  favor  which 
she  had  no  right  to  ask,  and  receiving  a  refusal  which  she 
had  richly  deserved,  was  no  remarkable  event  in  my  ex¬ 
perience  as  my  father’s  secretary  and  copyist.  But  the 
change  in  his  face  while  he  read  the  correspondence 
altered  my  opinion  of  the  letters.  There  was  more  in  them 
evidently  than  I  had  discovered.  I  kept  my  manuscript 
copy — here  it  is  : 

From  Miss  Elizabeth  Chance  to  the  Rev .  Abel  Grace  die  u. 

(Date  of  year,  1859.  Date  of  month  missing.) 

“  Dear  Sir  :  You  have,  I  hope,  not  quite  forgotten  the 
interesting  conversation  that  we  had  last  year  in  the  gov¬ 
ernor’s  rooms.  I  am  afraid  I  spoke  a  little  flippantly  at 
the  time  ;  but  I  am  sure  you  will  believe  me  when  I  say 
that  this  was  out  of  no  want  of  respect  for  yourself.  My 
pecuniary  position  being  far  from  prosperous,  I  am  en¬ 
deavoring  to  obtain  the  vacant  situation  of  house-keeper  in 
a  public  institution,  the  prospectus  of  which  I  enclose. 
You  will  see  it  is  a  rule  of  the  place  that  a  candidate 
must  be  a  single  woman  (which  I  am),  and  must  be  recom¬ 
mended  by  a  clergyman.  You  are  the  only  reverend  gen¬ 
tleman  whom  it  is  my  good  fortune  to  know,  and  the  thing 
is  of  course  a  mere  formality.  Pray  excuse  this  appli¬ 
cation,  and  oblige  me  by  acting  as  my  reference.  Sin¬ 
cerely  yours,  Elizabeth  Chance. 

“  P.  S.  Please  address  :  Miss  E.  Chance,  Poste  Restante, 
St.  Martin’s-le-Grand,  London.” 

From  the  Rev.  Abel  Gracedieu  to  Miss  Chance. 

(Copy.)  _ 

“  Madam  :  The  brief  conversation  to  which  your  letter 
alludes  took  place  at  an  accidental  meeting  between  us.  I 
then  saw  you  for  the  first  time,  and  I  have  not  seen  you 
since.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  assert  the  claim  of  a  per¬ 
fect  stranger,  like  yourself,  to  fill  a  situation  of  trust.  I 
beg  to  decline  acting  as  your  representative.  Your  obe¬ 
dient  servant,  Abel  Gracedieu.” 

•••«»,  •  »  • 

My  father  was  still  at  the  window. 

In  that  idle  position  he  could  hardly  complain  of  me  for 
interrupting  him,  if  I  ventured  to  talk  about  the  letters 
which  I  had  put  together.  If  my  curiosity  displeased  him, 
he  had  only  to  say  so,  and  there  would  be  an  end  to  any 
allusions  of  mine  to  the  subject.  My  first  idea  was  to  join 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


73 


him  at  the  window.  On  reflection,  and  still  perceiving  that 
he  kept  his  back  turned  on  me,  I  thought  it  might  be  more 
prudent  to  remain  at  the  table. 

“  This  Miss  Chance  seems  to  be  an  impudent  person  ?  ” 
I  said. 

“Yes.” 

“  Was  she  a  young  woman  when  you  met  with  her  ?  ” 

“  Yes.” 

“  What  sort  of  a  woman  to  look  at  ?  Ugly  ?” 

“  No.” 

Here  were  three  answers  which  Eunice  herself  would 
have  been  quick  enough  to  interpret  as  three  warnings  to 
say  no  more.  I  felt  a  little  hurt  by  his  keeping  his  back 
turned  on  me.  At  the  same  time,  and  naturally,  I  think,  I 
found  my  interest  in  Miss  Chance  (I  don’t  say  my  friendly 
interest)  considerably  increased  by  my  father’s  unusually 
rude  behavior.  I  was  also  animated  by  an  irresistible  de¬ 
sire  to  make  him  turn  around  and  look  at  me. 

“  Miss  Chance’s  letter  was  written  many  years  ago,”  I 
resumed.  “  I  suppose  at  that  time  she  knew  where  to 
write  to  you  ?  ” 

“  Certainly  not !  ” 

He  turned  round  sharply,  and  looked  at  me  at  last.  I 
had  excited  his  curiosity — and  that,  of  course,  encouraged 
me  to  go  on. 

“  How  do  you  imagine  Miss  Chance  found  out  your  ad¬ 
dress  ?”  I  asked. 

“  She  probably  directed  her  letter  to  our  offices  in  Lon¬ 
don,  with  a  request  that  it  might  be  forwarded.” 

“  I  wonder  what  has  become  of  her  since  she  wrote  to 
you.  Do  you  suppose  she  may  have  got  married  ?” 

“  I  know  nothing  about  her.” 

“Not  even  whether  she  is  alive  or  dead  ?” 

“Not  even  that.  What  do  these  questions  mean,  Hel¬ 
ena  ?  ” 

“Nothing,  father.” 

I  declare  he  looked  as  if  he  suspected  me. 

“  Why  don’t  you  speak  out  ?  ”  he  said.  “  Have  I  ever 
taught  you  to  conceal  your  thoughts  ?  Have  I  ever  been 
a  hard  father,  who  discouraged  you  when  you  wished  to 
confide  in  him  ?  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  Do  you 
know  anything  of  this  woman  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  father,  what  a  question  !  I  never  even  heard  of 
her  till  I  put  the  torn  letters  together.  I  begin  to  wish 
you  had  not  asked  me  to  do  it.” 


74 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


“  So  do  I.  It  never  struck  me  that  you  would  feel  such 
extraordinary — I  had  almost  said  such  vulgar — curiosity 
about  a  worthless  letter.” 

This  roused  my  temper.  When  a  young  lady  is  told 
that  she  is  vulgar,  if  she  has  any  self-conceit — I  mean  self- 
respect — she  feels  insulted.  I  said  something  sharp  in  my 
turn.  It  was  in  the  way  of  argument.  I  do  not  know 
how  it  may  be  with  other  young  persons.  I  never  reason 
so  well  myself  as  when  I  am  angry. 

“You  call  it  a  worthless  letter,”  I  said,  “and  yet  you 
think  it  worth  preserving  ?  ” 

“  Have  you  nothing  more  to  say  to  me  than  that  ?”  he 
asked. 

“Nothing  more,”  I  answered. 

He  changed  again.  After  having  looked  unaccountably 
angry,  he  now  looked  unaccountably  relieved. 

“I  will  soon  satisfy  you,”  he  said,  “that  I  have  a  good 
reason  for  preserving  a  worthless  letter.  Miss  Chance, 
my  dear,  is  not  a  woman  to  be  trusted.  If  she  saw  her 
advantage  in  making  a  bad  use  of  my  reply,  I  am  afraid 
she  would  not  hesitate  to  do  it.  Even  if  she  is  no  longer 
living,  I  don’t  know  into  what  vile  hands  my  letter  may 
have  fallen,  or  how  it  might  be  falsified  for  some  wicked  pur¬ 
pose.  Do  you  see  now  how  a  correspondence  may  become 
accidentally  important,  though  it  is  of  no  value  in  itself  ?” 

I  could  say  “yes  ”  to  this  with  a  safe  conscience. 

But  there  were  some  perplexities  still  left  in  my  mind. 
It  seemed  strange  that  Miss  Chance  should  (apparently) 
have  submitted  to  the  severity  of  my  father’s  reply.  “  I 
should  have  thought,”  I  said  to  him,  “  that  she  would 
have  sent  you  another  impudent  letter — or  perhaps  have 
insisted  on  seeing  you,  and  using  her  tongue  instead  of 
her  pen.” 

“  She  could  do  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  Helena. 
Miss  Chance  will  never  find  out  my  address  again  ;  I  have 
taken  good  care  of  that.” 

He  spoke  in  a  loud  voice,  with  a  flushed  face — as  if  it 
was  quite  a  triumph  to  have  prevented  this  woman  from 
discovering  his  address.  What  reason  could  he  have  for 
being  so  anxious  to  keep  her  away  from  him  ?  Could  I 
venture  to  conclude  that  there  was  a  mystery  in  the  life 
of  a  man  so  blameless,  so  truly  pious  ?  It  shocked  one 
even  to  think  of  it. 

There  was  a  silence  between  us,  to  which  the  house-maid 
offered  a  welcome  interruption.  Dinner  was  ready. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CATV. 


75 


-He  kissed  me  before  we  left  the  room.  “  One  word 
more,  Helena,”  he  said,  “and  I  have  done.  Livine  or 
dead,  married  or  single,  let  there  be  no  more  talk  between 
us  about  Elizabeth  Chance.” 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Miss  Jillgall  joined  us  at  the  dinner-table  in  a  state  of 
excitement,  carrying  a  book  in  her  hand.  She  addressed 
herself,  with  an  air  of  playful  penitence,  to  my  father. 

“Dear  cousin,  I  hope  I  have  not  done  wrong.  Helena  left 
me  all  by  myself.  When  I  had  finished  darning  the  cur¬ 
tain  I  really  didn’t  know  what  to  do.  So  I  opened  all  the 
bed-room  doors  up-stairs,  and  looked  into  the  rooms.  In 
the  big  room  with  two  beds — oh,  I’m  so  ashamed — I  found 
this  book.  Please  look  at  the  first  page.” 

My  father  looked  at  the  title-page.  “  Dr.  Watts’  Hymns. 
Well,  Selina,  what  is  there  to  be  ashamed  of  in  this  ?” 

“  Oh,  no,  no  !  It’s  the  wrong  page.  Do  look  at  the  oth¬ 
er  page — the  one  that  comes  first  before  that  one.” 

My  patient  father  turned  to  the  blank  page.  “Ah,”  he 
said,  quietly,  “my  other  daughter’s  name  is  written  in  it 
— the  daughter  whom  you  have  not  yet  seen.  Well  ?” 

Miss  Jillgall  clasped  her  hands  distractedly.  “  It’s  my 
ignorance  I’m  so  ashamed  of.  Dear  cousin,  forgive  me, 
enlighten  me.  I  don’t  know  how  to  pronounce  your  oth¬ 
er  daughter’s  name.  Do  you  call  her  Euneece  ?  ” 

The  dinner  was  getting  cold.  I  was  provoked  into  say¬ 
ing,  “  No,  we  don’t.” 

•  She  had  evidently  not  forgiven  me  for  leaving  her  by 
herself.  “  Pardon  me,  Helena  ;  when  I  want  information  I 
don’t  apply  to  you.  I  sit,  as  it  were,  at  the  feet  of  your 
learned  father.  Dear  cousin,  is  it - ” 

Even  my  father  declined  to  wait  for  his  dinner  any 
longer.  “  Pronounce  it  as  you  like,  Selina.  Here  we  say 
Eunice — with  an  accent  on  the  ‘  i  ’  and  with  the  final  ‘  e  ’ 
sounded  :  Eu-ni-see.  Let  me  give  you  some  soup.” 

Miss  Jillgall  groaned.  “  Oh,  how  difficult  it  seems  to  be. 
Quite  beyond  my  poor  brains.  I  shall  ask  the  dear  girl’s 
leave  to  call  her  Euneece.  What  very  strong  soup.  Isn’t 
it  rather  a  waste  of  meat  ?  Give  me  a  little  more,  please.” 

I  discovered  another  of  Miss  Jillgall’s  peculiarities.  Her 


76 


/ 


TILE  LEGACY  OF  CAIJV. 


appetite  was  enormous,  and  her  ways  were  greedy.  You 
heard  her  eat  her  soud.  She  devoured  the  food  on  her 
plate  with  her  eyes,  before  she  put  it  into  her  mouth ;  and 
she  criticized  our  English  cookery  in  the  most  impudent 
manner,  under  pretence  of  asking  humbly  how  it  was  done. 
There  was,  however,  some  temporary  compensation  for  this. 
We  had  less  of  her  talk  while  she  was  eating  her  dinner. 

With  the  removal  of  the  cloth,  she  recovered  the  use  of 
her  tongue  ;  and  she  hit  on  the  subject  of  all  others  which 
proves  to  be  the  sorest  trial  to  my  father’s  patience. 

“And  now,  dear  cousin,  let  us  talk  of  your  daughter,  our 
absent  Euneece.  I  do  so  long  to  see  her.  When  is  she 
coming  back  ?  ” 

“In  a  few  days  more.” 

“How  glad  I  am!  And,  do  tell  me — which  is  she? 
Your  oldest  girl  or  your  youngest  ?” 

“  Neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  Selina.” 

“  Oh,  my  head  !  my  head  !  This  is  even  worse  than  the 
accent  on  the  ‘i,’  and  the  final  {e.’  Stop  !  I  am  cleverer 
than  I  thought  I  was.  You  mean  that  the  girls  are  twins. 
Are  they  both  so  exactly  like  each  other  that  I  shan’t  know 
which  is  which  ?  What  fun  !  ” 

When  the  subject  of  our  ages  was  unluckily  started  at 
Mrs.  Staveley’s,  I  had  slipped  out  of  the  difficulty  easily 
by  assuming  the  character  of  the  eldest  sister — an  exarm 
pie  of  ready  tact  which  my  dear  stupid  Eunice  doesn’t  un¬ 
derstand.  In  my  father’s  presence,  it  is  needless  to  say  that 
I  kept  silence,  and  left  it  to  him.  I  was  sorry  to  be  obliged 
to  do  this.  Owing  to  his  sad  state  of  health,  he  is  easily 
irritated — especially  by  inquisitive  strangers. 

“  I  must  leave  you,”  lie  answered,  without  taking  the 
slightest  notice  of  what  Miss  Jillgall  had  said  to  him. 
“  My  work  is  waiting  for  me.” 

She  stopped  him  on  his  way  to  the  door.  “  Can’t  I  help 
you  ?  ” 

“No.” 

“Well — but  tell  me  one  thing.  Am  I  right  about  the 
twins  ?” 

“You  are  wrong.” 

Miss  Jillgall’s  demonstrative  hands  flew  up  into  the  air 
again,  and  expressed  the  climax  of  astonishment  by  quiv¬ 
ering  over  her  head.  “  This  is  positively  maddening,”  she 
declared.  “What  does  it  mean  ?” 

“  Take  my  advice,  cousin.  Don’t  attempt  to  find  out 
what  it  means.” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIIST. 


77 


He  left  the  room.  Miss  J illga.ll  appealed  to  me.  I  im¬ 
itated  my  father’s  wise  brevity  of  expression  :  “  Sorry  to 
disappoint  you,  Selina  ;  I  know  no  more  about  itthanyou 
do.  Come  up-stairs  ” 

Every  step  of  the  way  up  to  the  drawing-room  was 
marked  by  a  protest  or  an  inquiry.  Did  I  expect  her  to 
believe  that  I  couldn’t  say  which  of  us  was  the  elder  of 
the  two?  that  I  didn’t  really  know  what  my  father’s  mo¬ 
tive  was  for  this  extraordinary  mystification  ?  that  my  sis¬ 
ter  and  I  had  submitted  to  be  robbed,  as  it  were,  of  our 
own  ages,  and  had  not  insisted  on  discovering  which  of 
us  had  come  into  the  world  first  ?  that  our  friends  had  not 
put  an  end  to  this  sort  of  thing  by  comparing  us  person¬ 
ally,  and  discovering  which  was  the  elder  sister  by  investi¬ 
gation  of  our  faces  ?  To  all  this  I  replied  :  First,  that  I  did 
certainly  expect  her  to  believe  whatever  I  might  say  ; 
Secondly,  that  what  she  was  pleased  to  call  the  “  mystifi¬ 
cation  ”  had  begun  when  we  were  both  children  ;  that 
habit  had  made  it  familiar  to  us  in  the  course  of  years  ; 
and,  above  all,  that  we  were  too  fond  of  our  good  father 
to  ask  for  explanations  which  we  knew  by  experience 
would  distress  him.  Thirdly,  that  friends  did  try  to  dis¬ 
cover,  by  personal  examination,  which  was  the  elder  sister, 
and  differed  perpetually  in  their  conclusions  ;  also  that 
we  had  amused  ourselves  by  trying  the  same  experiment 
before  our  looking-glasses,  and  that  Eunice  thought  Hel¬ 
ena  was  the  oldest,  and  Helena  thought  Eunice  was  the 
oldest.  Fourthly  (and  finally),  that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Grace- 
dieu’s  cousin  had  better  drop  the  subject,  unless  she  was 
bent  on  making  her  presence  in  the  house  unendurable 
to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Gracedieu  himself. 

I  write  it  with  a  sense  of  humiliation.  Miss  Jillgall  lis¬ 
tened  attentively  to  all  I  had  to  say — and  then  took  me 
completely  by  surprise.  This  inquisitive,  meddlesome, 
restless,  impudent  woman  suddenly  transformed  herself 
into  a  perfect  model  of  amiability  and  decorum.  She  act¬ 
ually  said  she  agreed  with  me,  and  was  much  obliged  for 
my  good  advice  ! 

A  stupid  young  woman,  in  my  place,  would  have  discov- 
ered'that  this  was  not  natural,  and  that  Miss  Jillgall  was 
presenting  herself  to  me  in  disguise  to  reach  some  secret 
end  of  her  own.  I  am  not  a  stupid  young  woman  ;  I 
ought  to  have  had  at  my  service  penetration  enough  to 
see  through  and  through  Cousin  Selina.  Well  !  Cousin 
Selina  was  an  impenetrable  mystery  to  me. 


78 


TILE  LEGACY  OF  CAIK 


The  one  thing  to  be  done  was  to  watch  her.  I  was  at 
least  sly  enough  to  take  up  a  book  and  pretend  to  be  read¬ 
ing  it.  How  contemptible  ! 

She  looked  round  the  room  and  discovered  our  pretty 
writing-table,  a  present  to  my  father  from  the  congrega¬ 
tion  when  he  left  his  last  circuit.  After  a  little  considera¬ 
tion  she  sat  down  to  write  a  letter. 

“When  does  the  post  go  out  ?”  she  asked. 

I  mentioned  the  hour,  and  she  began  her  letter.  Before 
she  could  have  written  more  than  two  or  three  lines,  she 
turned  round  on  her  seat  and  began  talking  to  me. 

“  Do  you  like  writing  letters,  my  dear  ?  ” 

“Yes — but  then  I  have  not  many  letters  to  write.” 

“  Only  a  few  friends,  Helena,  but  those  few  worthy  to  be 
loved  ?  My  own  case  exactly.  Has  your  father  told  you 
of  my  troubles?  Ah,  I  am  glad  of  that.  It  spares  me  the 
sad  necessity  of  confessing  what  I  have  suffered.  Oh,  how 
good  my  friends,  my  few  friends  were  to  me  in  that  dull 
little  Belgian  town  !  One  of  them  was  a  pleasant  acquaint¬ 
ance — no  more.  But  she  had  suffered,  too.  A  vile  husband 
who  had  deceived  and  deserted  her.  Oh,  the  men  !  When 
she  heard  of  the  loss  of  my  little  fortune,  that  noble  creat¬ 
ure  got  up  a  subscription  for  me,  and  went  round  herself 
to  collect.  Think  of  what  I  owe  to  her  !  I  am  a  wretched 
letter-writer.  Other  women  enjoy  it  ;  I  hate  it.  But 
ought  I  to  let  another  day  pass  without  writing  to  this 
generous  benefactress  ?  Am  I  not  bound  in  gratitude  to 
make  her  happy  in  the  knowledge  of  my  happiness — 
I  mean,  the  refuge  opened  to  me  in  this  hospitable  house  ? 
Ah,  my  sweet  girl,  your  face  answers  for  you.  Forgive  me 
for  interrupting  you  over  your  book.”  She  twisted  her¬ 
self  back  again  to  the  writing-table  and  went  on  with  her 
letter. 

I  have  not  attempted  to  conceal  my  stupidity.  Let  me 
now  record  a  partial  recovery  of  my  intelligence. 

It  was  not  to  be  denied  that  MissJillgall  had  discovered 
a  good  reason  for  writing  to  her  friend  ;  but  I  was  at  a  loss 
to  understand  why  she  should  have  been  so  anxious  to 
mention  the  reason.  Was  it  possible — after  the  talk  which 
had  passed  between  us — that  she  had  something  mischiev¬ 
ous  to  say  in  her  letter,  relating  to  my  father  or  to  me  ? 
Was  she  afraid  I  might  suspect  this  ?  And  had  she  been 
so  communicative  for  the  purpose  of  leading  my  suspi¬ 
cions  astray  ?  These  were  vague  guesses  ;  but,  try  as  I 
might,  I  could  arrive  at  no  clearer  view  of  what  was  pass- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


79 


in g  in  Miss  Jillgall’s  mind.  What  would  I  not  have  given 
to  be  able  to  look  over  her  shoulder,  without  discovery  ! 

She  finished  her  letter,  and  put  the  address  and  closed 
the  envelope.  Then  she  turned  round  toward  me  again. 
“Have  you  got  a  foreign  postage-stamp,  dear  ?  ” 

If  I  could  look  at  nothing  else,  I  was  resolved  to  look  at 
her  envelope.  It  was  only  necessary  to  go  down  to  the 
study  and  apply  to  my  father.  I  returned  with  the  foreign 
stamp,  and  I  stuck  it  on  the  envelope  with  my  own  hand. 

There  was  nothing  to  interest  me  in  the  address,  as  I 
ought  to  have  foreseen,  if  I  had  not  been  too  much  ex¬ 
cited  for  the  exercise  of  a  little  common-sense.  Miss  J ill- 
gall’s  wonderful  friend  was  only  remarkable  for  her  ugly 
foreign  name — Mrs.  Tenbrueggen. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Eunice’s  diary. 

Here  I  am,  writing  my  history  of  myself,  once  more,  by  . 
my  own  bedside. 

Some  unexpected  events  have  happened  while  I  have 
been  away.  One  of  them  is  the  absence  of  my  sister. 

Helena  has  left  home  on  a  visit  to  a  northern  town  by 
the  seaside.  She  is  staying  in  the  house  of  a  minister  (one 
of  papa’s  friends)  and  is  occupying  a  position  of  dignity 
in  which  I  should  certainly  lose  my  head.  The  minister 
and  his  wife  and  daughters  propose  to  set  up  a  girls’ 
Scripture  class  on  the  plan  devised  by  papa  ;  and  they 
are  at  a  loss,  poor  helpless  people,  to  know  how  to  begin. 
Helena  has  volunteered  to  set  the  thing  going.  And 
there  she  is  now,  advising  everybody,  governing  every¬ 
body,  encouraging  everybody — issuing  directions,  finding 
fault,  rewarding  merit — oh,  dear,  let  me  put  it  all  in  one 
word,  and  say  :  thoroughly  enjoying  herself. 

Another  event  has  happened,  relating  to  papa.  It  so 
distressed  me  that  I  even  forgot  to  think  of  Philip — for  a 
little  while. 

Travelling  by  railway  (I  suppose  because  I  am  not  used 
to  it)  gives  me  the  headache.  When  I  got  to  our  station 
here,  I  thought  it  would  do  me  more  good  to  walk  home 
than  to  ride  in  the  noisy  omnibus.  Half  way  between  the 
railway  and  the  town,  I  met  one  of  the  doctors.  He  is  a 


So 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 

member  of  our  congregation  ;  and  he  it  was  who  recom¬ 
mended  papa,  some  time  since,  to  give  up  his  work  as  a 
minister  and  take  a  long  holiday  in  foreign  parts. 

“  I  am  glad  to  have  met  with  you,”  the  doctor  said. 
“Your  sister,  I  find,  is  away  on  a  visit;  and  I  want  to 
speak  to  one  of  you  about  your  father.” 

It  seemed  that  he  had  been  observing  papa,  in  chapel, 
from  what  he  called  his  own  medical  point  of  view.  He 
did  not  conceal  from  me  that  he  had  drawn  conclusions 
which  made  him  feel  uneasy.  “  It  may  be  anxiety,”  he 
said,  “  or  it  may  be  overwork.  In  either  case,  your  father 
is  in  a  state  of  nervous  derangement,  which  is  likely  to 
lead  to  serious  results — unless  he  takes  the  advice  that  I 
gave  him  when  he  last  consulted  me.  There  must  be  no 
more  hesitation  about  it.  Be  careful  not  to  irritate  him 
— but  remember  that  he  must  rest.  You  and  vour  sister 
have  some  influence  over  him  ;  he  won’t  listen  to  me.” 

Poor  dear  papa  !  I  did  see  a  change  in  him  for  the  worse 
— though  I  had  only  been  away  for  so  short  a  time. 

When  I  put  my  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed  him, 
he  turned  pale,  and  then  flushed  up  suddenly  ;  the  tears 
came  into  his  eyes.  Oh,  it  was  hard  to  follow  the  doctor’s 
advice  and  not  to  cry,  too  ;  but  I  succeeded  in  controlling 
myself.  I  sat  on  his  knee  and  made  him  tell  me  all  that  I 
have  written  here  about  Helena.  This  led  to  our  talking 
next  of  the  new  lady,  who  is  to  live  with  us  as  a  member 
of  the  family.  I  began  to  feel  less  uneasy  at  the  prospect 
of  being  introduced  to  this  stranger,  when  I  heard  that  she 
was  papa’s  cousin.  And  when  he  mentioned  her  name, 
and  saw  how  it  amused  me,  his  poor  worn  face  brightened 
into  a  smile.  “  Go  and  find  her,”  he  said,  “and  introduce 
yourself.  I  want  to  hear,  Eunice,  if  you  and  my  cousin 
are  likely  to  get  on  well  together.” 

The  servants  told  me  that  Miss  Jillgall  was  in  the  garden. 

I  searched  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  and  failed  to  find 
her.  The  place  was  so  quiet,  it  looked  so  deliciously  pure 
and  bright,  after  smoky,  dreary  London,  that  I  sat  down 
at  the  further  end  of  the  garden,  and  let  my  mind  take  me 
back  to  Philip.  What  was  he  doing  at  that  moment, 
while  I  was  thinking  of  him  ?  Perhaps  he  was  in  the  com¬ 
pany  of  other  young  ladies,  who  drew  all  his  thoughts 
away  to  themselves  ?  Or  perhaps  he  wTas  writing  to  his 
father  in  Ireland,  and  saying  something  kindly  and  prettily 
about  me  ?  Or  perhaps  he  was  looking  forward,  as  anx¬ 
iously  as  I  do,  to  our  meeting  next  week. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN .  81 

I  have  had  my  plans,  and  I  have  changed  my  plans. 

On  the  railway  journey,  I  thought  I  would  tell  papa  at 
once  of  the  new  happiness  which  seems  to  have  put  a  new 
life  into  me.  It  would  have  been  delightful  to  make  my 
confession  to  that  first  and  best  and  dearest  of  friends  ; 
but  my  meeting  with  the  doctor  spoilt  it  all.  After  what 
he  had  said  to  me  I  discovered  a  risk.  If  I  ventured  to 
tell  papa  that  my  heart  was  set  on  a  young  gentleman  who 
was  a  stranger  to  him,  could  I  be  sure  that  he  would  re¬ 
ceive  my  confession  favorably  ?  There  was  a  chance  that 
it  might  irritate  him — and  the  fault  would  then  be  mine 
of  doing  what  I  had  been  warned  to  avoid.  It  might  be 
safer  in  every  way,  to  wait  till  Philip  paid  his  visit,  and  he 
and  papa  had  been  introduced  to  each  other  and  charmed 
with  each  other.  Could  Helena  herself  have  arrived  at  a 
wiser  conclusion  ?  I  declare  I  felt  proud  of  my  own  dis¬ 
cretion.  , 

In  this  enjoyable  frame  of  mind,  I  was  disturbed  by  a 
woman’s  voice.  The  tone  was  a  tone  of  distress,  and  the 
words  reached  my  ears  from  the  end  of  the  garden  : 
“  Please,  miss,  let  me  in.” 

A  shrubbery  marks  the  limit  of  our  little  bit  of  pleasure 
ground.  On  the  other  side  of  it,  there  is  a  cottage  stand¬ 
ing  on  the  edge  of  the  common.  The  most  good-natured 
woman  in  the  world  lives  here.  She  is  our  laundress — 
married  to  a  stupid  young  fellow  named  Molly,  and  blest 
with  a  plump  baby  as  sweet-tempered  as  herself.  Think¬ 
ing  it  likely  that  the  piteous  voice  which  had  disturbed  me 
might  be  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Molly,  I  was  astonished  to  hear 
her  appealing  to  anybody  (perhaps  to  me  ?)  to  “  let  her 
in.”  So  I  passed  through  the  shrubbery,  wondering 
whether  the  gate  had  been  locked  during  my  absence  in 
London.  No  ;  it  was  as  easy  to  open  as  ever. 

The  cottage  door  was  not  closed. 

I  saw  our  amiable  laundress  in  the  passage,  on  her  knees, 
trying  to  open  an  inner  door  which  seemed  to  be  locked. 
She  had  her  eye  at  the  keyhole  ;  and,  once  again,  she 
called  out  :  “  Please,  miss,  let  me  in.”  I  waited  to  see  if 
the  door  would  be  opened— nothing  happened.  I  waited 
again,  to  hear  if  some  person  inside  would  answer— no¬ 
body  spoke.  But  somebody,  or  something,  made  a  sound 
of  splashing  water  on  the  other  side  of  the  door. 

I  showed  myself,  and  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

Mrs.  Molly  looked  at  me  helplessly.  She  said  :  “  Miss 
Eunice,  it’s  the  baby.” 

6 


82 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


“What  has  the  baby  done  ?  ”  I  inquired. 

Mrs.  Molly  got  on  her  feet,  and  whispered  in  my  ear, 
“You  know  lie’s  a  fine  child.” 

“Yes.” 

“Well,  miss,  he’s  bewitched  a  lady.” 

“What  lady?” 

“Miss  Jillgall.” 

The  very  person  I  had  been  trying  to  find  !  I  asked 
where  she  was. 

The  laundress  pointed  dolefully  to  the  locked  door  : 
“  In  there.” 

“And  where  is  your  baby  ?  ” 

The  poor  woman  still  pointed  to  the  door  :  “  I’m  begin¬ 
ning  to  doubt,  miss,  whether  it  is  my  baby.” 

“Nonsense,  Mrs.  Molly.  If  it  isn’t  yours,  whose  baby 
can  it  be  ?  ” 

“  Miss  Jillgall’s.” 

Her  puzzled  face  made  this  singular  reply  more  funny 
still.  The  splashing  of  water  on  the  other  side  of  the  door 
began  again.  “What  is  Miss  Jillgall  doing  now  ?”  I  said. 

“  Washing  the  baby,  miss.  A  week  ago  she  came  in  here, 
one  morning  ;  very  pleasant  and  kind,  I  must  own.  She 
found  me  putting  on  the  baby’s  things.  She  says,  ‘  What 
a  cherub!’  which  I  took  as  a  compliment.  She  says: 
‘ 1  shall  call  again  to-morrow.’  She  called  again  so  early 
that  she  found  the  baby  in  his  crib.  ‘  You  be  a  good  soul,’ 
she  savs,  ‘  and  go  about  your  work,  and  leave  the  child  to 
me.’  I  says,  ‘Yes,  miss,  but  please  to  wait  till  I’ve  made 
him  fit  to  be  seen.’  She  says  :  ‘  That’s  just  what  I  mean 
to  do  myself.’  I  stared  ;  and  I  think  any  other  person 
would  have  done  the  same  in  my  place.  ‘  If  there’s  one 
thing  more  than  another  I  enjoy,’  she  says,  ‘  it’s  making 
myself  useful.  Mrs.  Molly,  I’ve  taken  a  fancy  to  your 
boy-baby,’  she  says,  ‘and  I  mean  to  make  myself  useful 
to  him.’  If  you  will  believe  it,  Miss  Jillgall  has  only  let 
me  have  one  opportunity  of  putting  my  own  child  tidy. 
She  was  late  this  morning,  and  I  got  my  chance,  and  had 
the  boy  on  my  lap,  drying  him — when  in  she  burst  like  a 
blast  of  wind,  and  snatched  the  baby  away  from  me.  ‘  This 
is  your  nasty  temper,’  she  says ;  ‘  I  declare  I’m  ashamed  of 
you !  ’  And  there  she  is,  with  the  door  locked  against  me, 
washing  the  child  all  over  again  herself.  Twice  I’ve 
knocked  and  asked  her  to  let  me  in,  and  can’t  even  get  an 
answer.  They  do  say  there’s  luck  in  odd  numbers  ;  sup¬ 
pose  I  try  again  ?”  Mrs.  Molly  knocked,  and  the  proverb 


T HE  LEGACY  OF  CALM 


83 

proved  to  be  true  ;  she  got  an  answer  from  Miss  Jillgall 
at  last  :  “  If  you  don’t  be  quiet  and  go  away,  you  sha’n’t 
have  the  baby  back  at  all.”  Who  could  help  it  ? — I  burst 
out  laughing.  Miss  Jillgall  (as  I  supposed  from  the  tone 
of  her  voice)  took  severe  notice  of  this  act  of  impropriety. 
“Who’s  that  laughing  ?  ”  she  called  out  ;  “give  yourself  a 
name.”  I  gave  my  name.  The  door  was  instantly  thrown 
open  with  a  bang.  Papa’s  cousin  appeared,  in  a  dishev¬ 
elled  state,  with  splashes  of  soap  and  water  all  over  her. 
She  held  the  child  in  one  arm,  and  she  threw  the  other 
arm  around  my  neck.  “Dearest  Eunice,  I  have  been 
longing  to  see  you.  How  do  you  like  our  baby  ?  ” 

To  the  curious  story  of  my  introduction  to  Miss  Jillgall, 
I  ought  perhaps  to  add  that  I  have  got  to  be  friends  with 
her  already.  I  am  the  friend  of  anybody  who  amuses  me. 
What  will  Helena  say  when  she  reads  this  ? 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

When  people  are  interested  in  some  event  that  is  com¬ 
ing,  do  they  find  the  dull  days  passed  in  waiting  for  it 
days  which  they  are  not  able  to  remember  when  they  look 
back  ?  This  is  my  unfortunate  case.  Night  after  night 
I  have  gone  to  bed  without  so  much  as  opening  my  jour¬ 
nal.  There  was  nothing  worth  writing  about,  nothing 
that  I  could  recollect,  until  the  postman  came  to-day.  I 
ran  down-stairs,  when  I  heard  his  ring  at  the  bell,  and 
stopped  Maria  on  her  way  to  the  study.  There,  among 
papa’s  usual  handful  of  letters,  was  a  letter  for  me. 

“  Dear  Miss  Eunice  ”  .  .  .  “  Yours  ever  truly.” 

I  (juote  the  passages  in  Philip’s  letter  which  most  deeply 
interest  me — I  am  his  dear  Miss  ;  and  he  is  mine  ever 
truly.  The  other  part  of  the  letter  told  me  that  he  had 
been  detained  in  London,  and  he  lamented  it.  At  the  end 
was  a  delightful  announcement  that  he  was  coming  to  me 
by  the  afternoon  train.  I  ran  up  stairs  to  see  how  I  looked 
in  the  glass. 

My  first  feeling  was  regret.  For  the  thousandth  time  I 
was  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  I  was  not  as  pretty  as 
Helena.  But  this  passed  off.  A  cheering  reflection  oc¬ 
curred  to  me.  Philip  would  not  have  found,  in  my  sis¬ 
ter’s  face,  what  seems  to  have  interested  him  in  my  face. 
Besides,  there  is  my  figure. 


84 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


The  pity  of  it  is  that  I  am  so  ignorant  about  some 
things.  If  I  had  been  allowed  to  read  novels,  I  might 
(judging  by  what  papa  said  against  them  in  one  of  his 
sermons)  have  felt  sure  of  my  own  attractions  ;  I  might 
even  have  understood  what  Philip  really  thought  of  me. 
However,  my  mind  was  quite  unexpectedly  set  at  ease  on 
the  subject  of  my  figure.  The  manner  in  which  it  hap¬ 
pened  was  so  amusing — at  least,  so  amusing  to  me — that 
I  cannot  resist  mentioning  it. 

My  sister  and  I  are  forbidden  to  read  newspapers,  as 
well  as  novels.  But  the  teachers  at  the  girls’  Scripture 
class  are  too  old  to  be  treated  in  this  way.  When  the 
morning  lessons  were  over,  one  of  them  was  reading  the 
newspaper  to  the  other,  in  the  empty  school-room  ;  I  be¬ 
ing  in  the  passage  outside,  putting  on  my  cloak. 

It  was  a  report  of  “  an  application  made  to  the  magis¬ 
trates  by  the  lady  of  his  worship  the  mayor.”  Hearing  this, 
I  stopped  to  listen.  The  lady  of  his  worship  (what  a  funny 
way  of  describing  a  man’s  wife  !)  is  reported  to  be  a  little 
too  fond  of  notoriety,  and  to  like  hearing  the  sound  of  her 
own  voice  on  public  occasions.  But  this  is  only  my  writ¬ 
ing ;  I  had  better  get  back  to  the  report.  “In  her  address 
to  the  magistrates,  the  mayoress  stated  that  she  had  seen 
a  disgusting  photograph  in  the  shop  window  of  a  stationer, 
lately  established  in  the  town.  She  desired  to  bring  this 
person  within  reach  of  the  law,  and  to  have  all  his  copies 
of  the  shameless  photograph  destroyed.  The  usher  of  the 
court  was  thereupon  sent  to  purchase  the  photograph.” 
On  second  thoughts,  I  prefer  going  back  to  my  own  writ¬ 
ing  ;  it  is  so  uninteresting  to  copy  other  peoples’  writing. 
Two  of  the  magistrates  were  doing  justice.  They  looked 
at  the  photograph — and  what  did  it  represent  ?  The  fa¬ 
mous  statue  called  the  Venus  de  Medici  !  One  of  the 
magistrates  took  this  discovery  indignantly.  He*  was 
shocked  at  the  gross  ignorance  which  would  call  the 
classic  ideal  of  beauty  and  grace  a  disgusting  work.  The 
other  one  made  polite  allowances.  He  thought  the  lady 
was  much  to  be  pitied  ;  she  was  evidently  the  innocent 
victim  of  a  neglected  education.  Mrs.  Mayor  left  the 
court  in  a  rage,  telling  the  justices  she  knew  where  to  get 
law.  “I  shall  expose  Venus,”  she  said,  “to  the  lord 
chancellor.” 

When  the  Scripture  class  had  broken  up  for  the  day, 
duty  ought  to  have  taken  me  home.  Curiosity  led  me 
astray — I  mean,  led  me  to  the  stationer’s  window. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


85 


There  I  found  our  two  teachers,  absorbed  in  the  photo* 
graph,  having  got  to  the  shop  first  by  a  short  cut.  They 
seemed  to  think  I  had  taken  a  liberty  when  I  joined  them. 
“We  are  here,”  they  were  careful  to  explain,  “to  get  a 
lesson  in  the  ideal  of  beauty  and  grace.”  There  was  quite 
a  crowd  of  townsfolk  collected  before  the  window.  Some 
of  them  giggled,  and  some  of  them  wondered  whether  it  was 
taken  from  the  life.  For  my  own  part,  gratitude  to  Venus 
impels  me  to  own  that  she  effected  a  great  improvement  in 
the  state  of  my  mind.  She  encouraged  me.  If  that  stumpy 
little  creature — with  no  waist,  and  oh,  such  uncertain  legs  ! 
— represented  the  ideal  of  beauty  and  grace,  I  had  reason 
indeed  to  be  satisfied  with  my  own  figure,  and  to  think  it 
quite  possible  that  my  sweetheart’s  favorable  opinion 
of  me  was  not  ill  bestowed. 

I  was  at  the  bedroom  window  when  the  time  approached 
for  Philip’s  arrival. 

Quite  at  the  far  end  of  the  road,  I  discovered  him.  He 
was  on  foot  ;  he  walked  like  a  king.  Not  that  I  ever  saw 
a  king,  but  I  have  my  ideal.  Ah,  what  a  smile  he  gave  me, 
when  I  made  him  look  up  by  waving  my  handkerchief  out 
of  the  window!  “Ask  for  papa,”  I  whispered,  as  he  as¬ 
cended  the  house-steps. 

The  next  thing  to  do  was  to  wait,  as  patiently  as  I  could, 
to  be  sent  for  down-stairs.  Maria  came  to  me  in  a  state  of 
excitement.  “Oh,  miss,  what  a  handsome  young  gentle¬ 
man,  and  how  beautifully  dressed  !  Is  he - -  ?  ”  Instead 

of  finishing  what  she  had  to  say,  she  looked  at  me  with  a 
sly  smile.  I  looked  at  her  with  a  sly  smile.  We  were  cer¬ 
tainly  a  couple  of  fools.  But,  dear  me,  how  happy  some¬ 
times  a  fool  can  be  ! 

My  enjoyment  of  that  delightful  time  was  checked  when 
I  went  into  the  drawing-room. 

I  had  expected  to  see  papa’s  face  made  beautiful  by  his 
winning  smile.  He  was  not  only  serious,  he  actually 
seemed  to  be  ill  at  ease  when  he  looked  at  me.  At  the 
same  time,  I  saw  nothing  to  make  me  conclude  that  Philip 
had  produced  an  unfavorable  impression.  The  truth  is, 
we  were  all  three  on  our  best  behavior,  and  we  showed  it. 
Philip  had  brought  with  him  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Staveley, 
introducing  him  to  papa.  We  spoke  of  the  Staveleys,  of 
the  weather,  of  the  cathedral— and  then  there  seemed  to 
be  nothing  more  left  to  talk  about. 

In  the  silence  that  followed — what  a  dreadful  thing  si¬ 
lence  is  !— papa  was  sent  for  to  see  somebody  who  had 


S6 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIJV. 


called  on  business.  He  made  his  excuses  in  his  sweetest 
manner,  but  still  seriously.  When  he  and  Philip  had 
shaken  hands,  would  he  leave  us  together  ?  No ;  he 
waited.  Poor  Philip  had  no  choice  but  to  take  leave  of 
me.  Papa  then  went  out  by  the  door  that  led  into  his 
study,  and  I  was  left  alone. 

Can  any  words  say  how  wretched  I  felt  ? 

I  had  hoped  so  much  from  that  first  meeting — and  where 
were  my  hopes  now  ?  A  profane  wish  that  I  had  never 
been  born  was  finding  its  way  into  my  mind,  when  the 
door  of  the  room  was  opened  softly  from  the  side  of  the 
passage.  Maria,  dear  Maria,  the  best  friend  I  have,  peeped 
in.  She  whispered  :  “  Go  into  the  garden,  miss,  and  you 
will  find  somebody  there  who  is  dying  to  see  you.  Mind 
you  let  him  out  by  the  shrubbery  gate.”  I  squeezed  her 
hand  ;  I  asked  if  she  had  tried  the  shrubbery  gate  with  a 
sweetheart  of  her  own.  “  Hundreds  of  times,  miss.” 

Was  it  wrong  for  me  to  go  to  Philip  in  the  garden  ? 
Oh,  there  is  no  end  to  objections  !  Perhaps  I  did  it  be¬ 
cause  it  was  wrong.  Perhaps  I  had  been  kept  on  my  best 
behavior  too  long  for  human  endurance. 

How  sadly  disappointed  he  looked  !  And  how  rashly  he 
had  placed  himself  just  where  he  could  be  seen  from  the 
back  windows  !  I  took  his  arm  and  led  him  to  the  end  of 
the  garden.  There  we  were  out  of  reach  of  inquisitive 
eyes  ;  and  there  we  sat  down  together,  under  the  bis:  mul¬ 
berry  tree. 

“  Oh,  Eunice,  your  father  doesn’t  like  me  !  ” 

Those  were  his  first  words.  In  justice  to  papa  (and  a 
little  for  my  own  sake  too)  I  told  him  he  was  quite  wrong. 
I  said  :  “  Trust  my  father’s  goodness,  trust  his  kindness,  as 
I  do.” 

He  made  no  reply.  His  silence  was  sufficiently  ex¬ 
pressive  ;  he  looked  at  me  fondly. 

I  may  be  wrong,  but  fond  looks  surely  require  an  ac¬ 
knowledgment  of  some  kind  ?  Is  a  young  woman  guilty 
of  boldness  who  only  follows  her  impulses  ?  I  slipped  my 
hand  into  his  hand.  Philip  seemed  to  like  it.  We  re¬ 
turned  to  our  conversation. 

He  began.  “Tell  me,  dear,  is  Mr.  Gracedieu  always  as 
serious  as  he  is  to-day  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  no  !  ” 

“  When  he  takes  exercise  does  he  ride,  or  does  he  walk  ?  ” 

“  Papa  always  walks.” 

“  By  himself  ?  ” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, \ 


S7 

“  Sometimes  by  himself.  Sometimes  with  me.  Do  you 
want  to  meet  him  when  he  goes  out  ?  ” 

“Yes.” 

“When  he  is  out  with  me  ?” 

“  No.  When  he  is  out  by  himself.” 

Was  it  possible  to  tell  me  more  plainly  that  I  was  not 
wanted?  I  did  my  best  to  express  indignation  by  snatch¬ 
ing  my  hand  away  from  him.  He  was  completely  taken 
by  surprise. 

“  Eunice  !  Don’t  you  understand  me  ?  ” 

I  was  as  stupid  and  as  disagreeable  as  I  could  possibly 
be  :  “  No,  I  don’t.” 

“  Then  let  me  help  you,”  he  said,  with  a  patience  which 
I  had  not  deserved. 

Up  to  that  moment  I  had  been  leaning  against  the  back 
of  a  garden  chair.  Something  else  now  got  between  me 
and  my  chair.  It  stole  around  my  waist — it  held  me  gent¬ 
ly — it  strengthened  its  hold — it  improved  my  temper — it 
made  me  fit  to  understand  him.  All  done  by  what  ?  Only 
an  arm  ! 

Philip  went  on  : 

“I  want  to  ask  your  father  to  do  me  the  greatest  of  all 
favors — and  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Every  day  I  expect 
to  get  a  letter  which  may  recall  me  to  Ireland.” 

My  heart  sank  at  this  horrid  prospect  ;  and  in  some 
mysterious  way  my  head  must  have  felt  it  too.  I  mean 
that  I  found  my  head  resting  on  his  shoulder.  He  went 
on  : 

“  How  am  I  to  get  my  opportunity  of  speaking  to  Mr. 
Gracedieu  ?  I  mustn’t  call  on  him  again  so  soon  as  to¬ 
morrow  or  next  day.  But  I  might  meet  him,  out  walking 
alone,  if  you  will  tell  me  how  to  do  it.  A  note  to  my 
hotel  is  all  I  want.  Don’t  tremble,  my  sweet.  If  you  are 
not  present  at  the  time,  do  you  see  any  objection  to  my 
owning  to  your  father  that  I  love  you  ? 

I  felt  his  delicate  consideration  for  me — I  did  indeed 
feel  it  gratefully.  If  he  only  spoke  first,  how  well  I  should 
get  on  with  papa  afterward  !  The  prospect  before  me 
was  exquisitely  encouraging.  I  agreed  with  Philip  in 
everything  ;  and  I  waited  (how  eagerly  was  only  known  to 
myself)  to  hear  what  he  would  say  to  me  next.  He  pro¬ 
phesied  next : 

“When  I  have  told  your  father  that  I  love  you  he  will 
expect  me  to  tell  him  something  else.  Can  you  guess 
what  it  is  ?” 


88 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


If  I  had  not  been  confused  perhaps  I  might  have  found 
the  answer  to  this.  As  it  was,  I  left  him  to  reply  to  him¬ 
self.  He  did  it,  in  words  which  I  shall  remember  as  long 
as  I  live. 

“Dearest  Eunice,  when  your  father  has  heard  my  con¬ 
fession  he  will  suspect  that  there  is  another  confession  to 
follow  it — he  will  want  to  know  if  you  love  me.  My 
angel,  will  my  hopes  be  your  hopes,  too,  when  I  answer 
him  ?  ” 

What  there  was  in  this  to  make  my  heart  beat  so  vio¬ 
lently  that  I  felt  as  if  I  was  being  stifled  is  more  than  I  can 
tell.  He  leaned  so  close  to  me,  so  tenderly,  so  delightfully 
close,  that  our  faces  nearly  touched.  He  whispered  :  “Say 
you  love  me,  in  a  kiss  !” 

His  lips  touched  my  lips,  pressed  them,  dwelt  on  them 
— oh!  how  can  I  tell  of  it!  Some  new  enchantment  of 
feeling  ran  deliciously  through  and  through  me.  1  forgot 
my  own  self  ;  I  only  knew  of  one  person  in  the  world.  He 
was  master  of  my  lips  ;  he  was  master  of  my  heart.  When 
he  whispered,  “  Kiss  me,”  I  kissed  him.  What  a  moment 
it  was  !  A  faintness  stole  over  me  ;  I  felt  as  if  I  was  go¬ 
ing  to  die  some  exquisite  death  ;  I  laid  myself  back  away 
from  him — I  was  not  able  to  speak.  There  was  no  need 
for  it ;  my  thoughts  and  his  thoughts  were  one— he  knew 
that  I  was  quite  overcome  ;  he  saw  that  he  must  leave  me 
to  recover  myself  alone.  I  pointed  to  the  shrubbery  gate. 
We  took  one  long  last  look  at  each  other  for  that  day  ;  the 
trees  hid  him  ;  I  was  left  by  myself. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

How  long  a  time  passed  before  my  composure  came 
back  to  me,  I  cannot  remember  now.  It  seemed  as  if  I  was 
waiting  through  some  interval  of  my  life  that  was  a  mys¬ 
tery  to  myself.  I  was  content  to  wait  and  feel  the  light 
evening  air  in  the  garden  wafting  happiness  over  me. 
And  all  this  had  come  from  a  kiss  !  I  can  call  the  time  to 
mind,  when  I  used  to  wonder  why  people  made  such  a  fuss 
about  kissing. 

I  had  been  indebted  to  Maria  for  my  first  taste  of  para¬ 
dise.  I  was  recalled  by  Maria  to  the  world  that  I  had  been 
accustomed  to  live  in  ;  the  world  that  was  beginning  to 
fade  away  in  my  memory  already.  She  had  been  sent  to 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAW. 


89 


the  garden  in  search  of  me  ;  and  she  had  a  word  of  advice 
to  offer,  after  noticing  my  face  when  I  stepped  out  of  the 
shadow  of  the  tree  :  “  Try  to  look  more  like  yourself,  miss, 
before  you  let  them  see  you  at  the  tea-table.” 

Papa  and  Miss  Jillgall  were  sitting  together  talking, 
when  I  opened  the  door.  They  left  off  when  they  saw  me  ; 
and  I  supposed,  quite  correctly  as  it  turned  out,  that  I  had 
been  one  of  the  subjects  in  their  course  of  conversation. 
My  poor  father  seemed  to  be  sadly  anxious  and  out  of  sorts. 
Miss  Jillgall,  if  I  had  been  in  the  humor  to  enjoy  it,  would 
have  been  more  amusing  than  ever.  One  of  her  funny  lit¬ 
tle  eyes  persisted  in  winking  at  me,  and  her  heavy  foot  had 
something  to  say  to  my  foot,  under  the  table,  which  meant 
a  great  deal  perhaps,  but  which  only  succeeded  in  hurting 
me. 

My  father  left  us  ;  and  Miss  Jillgall  explained  herself. 

“  I  know,  dearest  Eunice,  that  we  have  only  been  ac¬ 
quainted  for  a  day  or  two,  and  that  I  ought  not  perhaps  to 
have  expected  you  to  confide  in  me  so  soon.  Can  I  trust 
you  not  to  betray  me  if  I  set  an  example  of  confidence  ? 
Ah,  I  see  I  can  trust  you  !  And,  my  dear,  I  do  so  enjoy 
telling  secrets  to  a  friend.  Hush  !  Your  father,  your  ex¬ 
cellent  father,  has  been  talking  to  me  about  young  Mr. 
Dunboyne.” 

She  provokingly  stopped  there.  I  entreated  her  to  go 
on.  She  invited  me  to  sit  on  her  knee.  “  I  want  to  whis¬ 
per,”  she  said.  It  was  too  ridiculous — but  I  did  it.  Miss 
Jillgall’s  whisper  told  me  serious  news. 

“  The  minister  has  some  reason,  Eunice,  for  disap¬ 
proving  of  Mr.  Dunboyne  ;  but,  mind  this,  I  don’t  think 
he  has  a  bad  opinion  of  the  young  man  himself.  He  is 
going  to  return  Mr.  Dunboyne’s  call.  Oh,  I  do  so  hate 
formality  ;  I  really  can’t  go  on  talking  of  Mr.  Dunboyne. 
Tell  me  his  Christian  name.  Ah,  what  a  noble  name  ! 
How  I  long  to  be  useful  to  him  !  To-morrow,  my  dear, 
after  the  one  o’clock  dinner,  your  papa  will  call  on  Philip 
at  his  hotel.  I  hope  he  won’t  be  out  just  at  the  wrong 

9  9 

me. 

I  resolved  to  prevent  that  unlucky  accident  by  writing 
to  Philip.  If  Miss  Jillgall  would  have  allowed  it,  I  should 
have  begun  my  letter  at  once.  But  she  had  more  to  say  *, 
and  she  was  stronger  than  I  was,  and  still  kept  me  on  her 
knee. 

“It  all  looks  bright  enough  so  far,  doesn’t  it,  dear  sis¬ 
ter  ?  Will  you  let  me  be  your  third  sister  ?  I  do  so  love 


9° 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALX. 


you,  Eunice.  Thank  you  !  thank  you  !  But  the  gloomy 
side  of  the  picture  is  to  come  next.  The  minister — no  ! 
now  I  am  your  sister  I  must  call  him  papa  ;  it  makes  me 
feel  so  young  again  !  Well,  then,  papa  has  asked  me  to 
be  your  companion  whenever  you  go  out.  ‘  Eunice  is 
too  young  and  too  attractive  to  be  walking  about  this 
great  town  (in  Helena’s  absence)  by  herself.’  That  was 
how  he  put  it.  Slyly  enough,  if  one  may  say  so  of  so  good 
a  man.  And  he  used  your  sister  (didn’t  lie  ?)  as  a  kind  of 
excuse.  I  wish  your  sister  was  as  nice  as  you  are.  How¬ 
ever,  the  point  is,  why  am  I  to  be  your  companion  ?  Be¬ 
cause,  dear  child,  you  and  your  young  gentleman  are  not 
to  make  appointments  and  to  meet  each  other  alone. 
Oh,  yes — that’s  it!  Your  father  is  quite  willing  to  re¬ 
turn  Philip’s  call  ;  he  proposes  (as  a  matter  of  civility  to 
Mrs.  Staveley)  to  ask  Philip  to  dinner ;  but,  mark  my 
words,  he  doesn’t  mean  to  let  Philip  have  you  for  his 
wife.” 

I  jumped  off  her  lap  ;  it  was  horrible  to  hear  her.  “  Oh,” 
I  said,  “  can  you  be  right  about  it  ?” 

Miss  Jillgall  jumped  up  too.  She  has  foreign  ways  of 
shrugging  her  shoulders  and  making  signs  with  her  hands. 
On  this  occasion  she  laid  both  hands  on  the  upper  part  of 
her  dress,  just  below  her  throat,  and  mysteriously  shook 
her  head. 

“When  my  views  are  directed  by  my  affections,”  she 
assured  me,  “I  never  see  wrong.  My  bosom  is  my  strong 
point.” 

She  has  no  bosom,  poor  soul — but  I  understood  what 
she  meant.  It  failed  to  have  any  soothing  effect  on  my 
feelings.  I  felt  grieved,  and  angry,  and  puzzled,  all  in 
one.  Miss  Jillgall  stood  looking  at  me  with  her  hands 
still  on  the  place  where  her  bosom  was  supposed  to  be. 
She  made  my  temper  hotter  than  ever. 

“  I  mean  to  marry  Philip,”  I  said. 

“  Certainly,  my  dear  Euneece.  But  please  don’t  be  so 
fierce  about  it.” 

“  If  my  father  does  really  object  to  my  marriage,”  I 
went  on,  “  it  must  be  because  he  dislikes  Philip.  There 
can  be  no  other  reason.” 

“Oh,  yes,  dear — there  can.” 

“What  is  the  reason,  then  ?” 

“  That,  my  sweet  girl,  is  one  of  the  things  that  we  have 
got  to  find  out.” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


9i 


The  post  of  this  morning  brought  a  letter  from  my  sis¬ 
ter.  We  were  to  expect  her  return  by  the  next  day’s 
train.  This  was  good  news.  Philip  and  I  might  stand  in 
need  of  clever  Helena’s  help,  and  we  might  be  sure  of 
getting  it  now. 

In  writing  to  Philip,  I  had  asked  him  to  let  me  hear 
how  papa  and  he  had  got  on  at  the  hotel. 

I  won’t  say  how  often  I  consulted  my  watch,  or  how 
often  I  looked  out  of  the  window  for  a  man  with  a  letter 
in  his  hand.  It  will  be  better  to  get  on  at  once  to  the  dis¬ 
couraging  end  of  it,  when  the  report  of  the  interview 
reached  me  at  last.  Twice,  Philip  had  attempted  to  ask 
for  my  hand  in  marriage — and  twice  my  father  had  “de¬ 
liberately,  obstinately”  (Philip’s  own  words),  changed  the 
subject.  EATen  this  was  not  all.  As  if  he  was  determined 
to  show  that  Miss  Jillgall  was  perfectly  right,  and  I  per¬ 
fectly  wrong,  papa  (civil  to  Philip  as  long  as  he  did  not 
talk  of  me)  had  asked  him  to  dine  with  us,  and  Philip  had 
accepted  the  invitation  ! 

What  were  we  to  think  of  it  ?  What  were  we  to  do  ? 

I  wrote  back  to  my  dear  love  (so  cruelly  used)  to  tell 
him  that  Helena  was  expected  to  return  the  next  day,  and 
that  her  opinion  would  be  of  the  greatest  value  to  both  of 
us.  In  a  postscript  I  mentioned  the  hour  at  which  we 
were  going  to  the  station  to  meet  my  sister.  When  I  say 
“we,”  I  mean  Miss  Jillgall  as  well  as  myself. 


We  found  him  waiting  for  us  at  the  railway.  I  am 
afraid  he  resented  papa’s  incomprehensible  resolution  not 
to  give  him  a  hearing.  He  was  silent  and  sullen.  I  could 
not  conceal  that  to  see  this  state  of  feeling  distressed  me. 
He  showed  how  truly  he  deserved  to  be  loved — he  begged 
my  pardon,  and  he  became  his  own  sweet  self  again  di¬ 
rectly.  I  am  more  determined  to  marry  him  than  ever. 

When  the  train  entered  the  station,  all  the  carriages 
were  full.  Looking  along  the  train,  I  went  one  way, 
thinking  I  had  seen  Helena.  Miss  Jiljgall  went  the  other 
way,  under  the  same  impression.  Philip  was  a  little  way 
behind  me. 

Not  seeing  my  sister,  I  had  just  turned  back,  when.  a 
young  man  jumped  out  of  a  carriage,  opposite  to  Philip, 
and  recognized  and  shook  hands  with  him.  I  was  just 
near  enough  to  hear  the  stranger  say,  “  Look  at  the  girl 
in  our  carriage.”  Philip  looked.  “  What  a  charming 


92 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


creature  !  ”  he  said,  and  then  checked  himself  for  fear  the 
young  lady  should  hear  him.  She  had  just  handed  her 
travelling  bag  and  wraps  to  a  porter,  and  was  getting  out. 
Philip  politely  offered  his  hand  to  help  her.  She  looked 
my  way.  The  charming  creature  of  my  sweetheart’s  ad¬ 
miration  was,  to  my  infinite  amusement,  Helena  herself. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Helena’s  diary. 

The  day  of  my  return  marks  an  occasion  which  I  am 
not  likely  to  forget.  Hours  have  passed  since  I  came 
home — and  my  agitation  still  forbids  the  thought  of  re¬ 
pose. 

As  I  sit  at  my  desk  I  see  Eunice  in  bed,  sleeping  peace¬ 
fully,  except  when  she  is  murmuring  enjoyment  in  some 
happy  dream.  To  what  end  has  my  sister  been  advancing 
blindfold,  and  (who  knows  ?)  dragging  me  with  her,  since 
that  disastrous  visit  to  our  friends  in  London  ?  Strange, 
that  there  should  be  a  leaven  of  superstition  in  my  nature  ! 
Strange,  that  I  should  feel  fear  of  something — I  hardly 
know  what ! 

I  have  met  somewhere  (perhaps  in  my  historical  read¬ 
ing)  with  the  expression  :  “  A  chain  of  events.”  Was  I  at 
the  beginning  of  the  chain,  when  I  entered  the  railway 
carriage  on  my  journey  home  ? 

Among  the  other  passengers  there  was  a  young  gentle¬ 
man,  accompanied  by  a  lady,  who  proved  to  be  his  sister. 
They  were  both  well-bred  people.  The  brother  evidently 
admired  me,  and  did  his  best  to  make  himself  agreeable. 
Time  passed  quickly  in  pleasant  talk,  and  my  vanity  was 
flattered — and  that  was  all. 

My  fellow-travellers  were  going  on  to  London.  When 
the  train  reached  our  station  the  young  lady  sent  her 
brother  to  buy  some  fruit,  which  she  saw  in  the  window 
of  the  refreshment-room.  The  first  man  whom  he  en¬ 
countered  on  the  platform  was  one  of  his  friends,  to  whom 
he  said  something  which  I  failed  to  hear.  When  I  handed 
my  travelling  bag  and  my  wraps  to  the  porter,  and  showed 
myself  at  the  carriage-door,  I  heard  the  friend  say : 
“  What  a  charming  creature  !  ”  Having  nothing  to  com 
ceal  in  a  journal  which  I  mean  to  protect  for  the  future 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


93 


by  a  lock,  I  may  own  that  the  stranger’s  personal  appear¬ 
ance  struck  me,  and  that  what  I  felt  this  time  was  not  flat¬ 
tered  vanity,  but  gratified  pride.  He  was  young,  he  was 
remarkably  handsome,  he  was  a  distinguished-looking 
man. 

All  this  happened  in  one  moment.  In  the  moment  that 
followed,  I  found  myself  in  Eunice’s  arms.  That  odious 
person,  Miss  Jillgall,  insisted  on  embracing  me  next. 
And  then  I  was  conscious  of  an  indescribable  feeling  of 
surprise.  Eunice  presented  the  distinguished-looking 
gentleman  to  me  as  a  friend  of  hers — Mr.  Philip  Dun¬ 
boyne. 

“  I  had  the  honor  of  meeting  your  sister,”  he  said,  11  in 
London,  at  Mr.  Staveley’s  house.”  He  went  on  to  speak 
easily  and  gracefully  of  the  journey  I  had  taken,  and  of 
his  friend  who  had  been  my  fellow-traveller  ;  and  he  at¬ 
tended  us  to  the  railway  omnibus  before  he  took  his  leave. 
I  observed  that  Eunice  had  something  to  say  to  him  con¬ 
fidentially  before  they  parted.  This  was  another  example 
of  my  sister’s  childish  character  ;  she  is  instantly  familiar 
with  new  acquaintances,  if  she  happens  to  like  them.  I 
anticipated  some  amusement  from  hearing  how  she  had 
contrived  to  establish  confidential  relations  with  a  highly 
cultivated  man  like  Mr.  Dunboyne.  But,  while  Miss  Jill¬ 
gall  was  with  us,  it  was  just  as  well  to  keep  within  the 
limits  of  commonplace  conversation. 

Before  we  got  out  of  the  omnibus  I  had,  however,  ob¬ 
served  one  undesirable  result  of  my  absence  from  home. 
Eunice  and  Miss  Jillgall — the  latter  having,  no  doubt, 
finely  flattered  the  former — appeared  to  have  taken  a 
strong  liking  to  each  other. 

Two  curious  circumstances  also  caught  my  attention. 
I  saw  a  change  to  what  I  call  self-assertion  in  my  sister’s 
manner  ;  something  seemed  to  have  raised  her  in  her  own 
estimation.  Then,  again,  Miss  Jillgall  was  not  like  her 
customary  self.  She  had  delightful  moments  of  silence  ; 
and  when  Eunice  asked  how  I  liked  Mr.  Dunboyne,  she 
listened  to  my  reply  with  an  appearance  of  interest  in  her 
ugly  face,  which  was  quite  a  new  revelation  in  my  experi¬ 
ence  of  my  father’s  cousin. 

These  little  discoveries  (after  what  I  had  already  ob¬ 
served  at  the  railway  station)  ought  perhaps  to  have  pre¬ 
pared  me  for  what  was  to  come  when  my  sister  and  I  were 
alone  in  her  room.  But  Eunice,  whether  she  meant  to 
do  it  or  not,  baffled  my  customary  penetration.  She  looked 


94 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


as  if  she  had  plenty  of  news  to  tell  me — with  some  obsta¬ 
cle  in  the  way  of  doing  it  which  appeared  to  amuse  in¬ 
stead  of  annoy  her.  If  there  is  one  thing  more  than  an¬ 
other  that  I  hate,  it  is  being  puzzled.  I  asked  at  once  if 
anything  remarkable  had  happened  during  Eunice's  visit 
to  London. 

She  smiled  mischievously.  “  I  have  got  a  delicious  sur¬ 
prise  for  you,  my  dear;  and  I  do  so  enjoy  prolonging  it. 
Tell  me,  Helena,  what  did  you  propose  we  should  both 
do  when  we  found  ourselves  at  home  again  ?  ” 

My  memory  was  at  fault.  Eunice’s  good  spirits  became 
absolutely  boisterous.  She  called  out  :  “  Catch  !  ”  and 
tossed  her  journal  into  my  hands,  across  the  whole  length 
of  the  room.  “We  were  to  read  each  other’s  diaries,”  she 
said.  “There  is  mine  to  begin  with.” 

Innocent  of  any  suspicion  of  the  true  state  of  affairs,  I 
began  the  reading  of  Eunice’s  journal. 

If  I  had  not  seen  the  familiar  handwriting,  nothing 
would  have  induced  me  to  believe  that  a  girl  brought  up 
in  a  pious  household,  the  well  beloved  daughter  of  one  of 
the  most  distinguished  men  in  the  Wesleyan  ministry,  could 
have  written  that  shameless  record  of  passions  unknown  to 
young  ladies  in  respectable  English  life.  What  to  say, 
what  to  do  when  I  had  closed  the  book,  was  more  than  I 
felt  myself  equal  to  decide.  My  wretched  sister  spared 
me  the  anxiety  which  I  might  otherwise  have  felt.  It  was 
she  who  first  opened  her  lips  after  the  silence  that  had 
fallen  on  us  while  I  was  reading.  These  were  literally  the 
words  that  she  said  : 

“My  darling,  why  don’t  you  congratulate  me  ?” 

No  arguments  could  have  persuaded  me,  as  this  per¬ 
suaded  me,  that  all  sisterly  remonstrance  on  my  part  would 
be  completely  thrown  away. 

“My  dear  Eunice,”  I  said,  “let  me  beg  you  to  excuse 
me.  I  am  waiting - ” 

There  she  interrupted  me — and,  oh,  in  what  an  impudent 
manner!  She  took  my  chin  between  her  finger  and  thumb 
and  lifted  my  downcast  face,  and  looked  at  me  with  an  ap¬ 
pearance  of  eager  expectation  which  I  was  quite  at  a  loss 
to  understand. 

“You  have  been  away  from  home,  too,”  she  said.  “Do 
I  see  in  this  serious  face  some  astonishing  news  to  over¬ 
power  me  ?  Have  you  found  a  sweetheart  ?  Are  you  en¬ 
gaged  to  be  married?” 

I  only  put  her  hand  away  from  me,  and  advised  her  to 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


95 

return  to  her  chair.  This  perfectly  harmless  proceeding 
seemed  absolutely  to  frighten  her. 

“  Oh,  my  dear,”  she  burst  out,  “surely  you  are  not  jeal¬ 
ous  of  me  ?  ” 

There  was  but  one  possible  reply  to  this  ;  I  laughed  at 
it.  Is  Eunice’s  head  turned  ?  She  kissed  me  ! 

“  Now  you  laugh,”  she  said,  “I  begin  to  understand  you 
again ;  I  ought  to  have  known  that  you  are  superior  to 
jealousy.  But,  do  tell  me,  would  it  be  so  very  wonderful 
if  other  girls  found  something  to  envy  in  my  good  luck  ? 
Just  think  of  it.  Such  a  handsome  man,  such  an  agreeable 
man,  such  a  clever  man,  such  a  rich  man — and,  not  the 
least  of  his  merits,  by  the  bye,  a  man  who  admires  you. 
Come  !  if  you  won’t  congratulate  me,  congratulate  your¬ 
self  on  having  such  a  brother-in-law  in  prospect  !  ” 

Her  head  was  turned.  I  drew  the  poor  soul’s  attention 
compassionately  to  what  I  had  said  a  moment  since. 

“  Pardon  me,  dear,  for  reminding  you  that  I  have  not 
yet  refused  to  offer  my  congratulations.  I  only  told  you  I 
was  waiting.” 

“For  what  ?  ” 

“  Waiting,  of  course,  to  hear  what  my  father  thinks  of 
your  wonderful  good  luck.” 

This  explanation,  offered  with  the  kindest  intentions, 
produced  another  change  in  my  very  variable  sister.  I 
had  extinguished  her  good  spirits  as  I  might  have  extin¬ 
guished  a  light.  She  sat  down  by  me,  and  sighed  in  the 
saddest  manner.  The  heart  must  be  hard  indeed  which 
can  resist  the  distress  of  a  person  who  is  dear  to  us.  I  put 
my  arm  round  her  ;  she  was  becoming  once  more  the 
Eunice  whom  I  so  dearly  loved. 

“My  poor  child,”  I  said,  “don’t  distress  yourself  by 
speaking  of  it  ;  I  understand.  Your  father  objects  to 
your  marrying  Mr.  Dunboyne.” 

She  shook  her  head.  “I  can’t  exactly  say,  Helena,  that 
papa  does  that.  He  only  behaves  very  strangely.” 

“  Am  I  indiscreet,  dear,  if  I  ask  in  what  way  father’s  be¬ 
havior  has  surprised  you  ?  ” 

She  was  quite  willing  to  enlighten  me.  It  was  a  simple 
little  story  which,  to  my  mind,  sufficiently  explained  the 
strange  behavior  that  had  puzzled  my  unfortunate  sister. 

There  could  indeed  be  no  doubt  that  my  father  consid¬ 
ered  Eunice  far  too  childish  in  character,  as  yet,  to  under¬ 
take  the  duties  of  matrimony.  But,  with  his  customary 
delicacy  and  dread  of  causing  distress  to  others,  he  had  de- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, 


96  . 

ferred  the  disagreeable  duty  of  communicating  his  opinion 
to  Mr.  Dunboyne.  The  adverse  decision  must,  however,  be 
sooner  or  later  announced  ;  and  he  had  arranged  to  inflict 
disappointment,  as  tenderly  as  might  be,  at  his  own  table. 

Considerately  leaving  Eunice  in  the  enjoyment  of  any 
vain  hopes  which  she  may  have  founded  on  the  event  of 
the  dinner  party,  I  passed  the  evening,  until  supper  time 
came,  in  the  study  with  my  father. 

Our  talk  was  mainly  devoted  to  the  worthy  people  with 
whom  I  had  been  staying,  and  whose  new  schools  I  had 
helped  to  found.  Not  a  word  was  said  relating  to  my 
sister  or  to  Mr.  Dunboyne.  Poor  father  looked  so  sadly 
weary  and  ill  that  I  ventured,  after  what  the  doctor  had 
said  to  Eunice,  to  hint  at  the  value  of  rest  and  change  of 
scene  to  an  overworked  man.  Oh,  dear  me,  he  frowned, 
and  waved  the  subject  away  from  him  impatiently  with  a 
wan,  pale  hand. 

After  supper,  I  made  an  unpleasant  discovery. 

Not  having  completely  finished  the  unpacking  of  my 
boxes,  I  left  Miss  Jillgall  and  Eunice  in  the  drawing-room 
and  went  up-stairs.  In  half  an  hour  I  returned  and  found 
the  room  empty.  What  had  become  of  them  ?  It  was  a 
fine,  moonlight  night  ;  I  stepped  into  the  back  drawing¬ 
room  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  There  they  were, 
walking  arm  in  arm,  with  their  heads  close  together,  deep 
in  talk.  With  my  knowledge  of  Miss  Jillgall,  I  call  this  a 
bad  sign. 

An  odd  thought  has  just  come  to  me.  I  wonder  what 
might  have  happened  if  I  had  been  visiting  at  Mrs.  Stave- 
ley’s,  instead  of  Eunice,  and  if  Mr.  Dunboyne  had  seen  me 
first. 

Absurd  !  If  I  was  not  too  tired  to  do  anything  more, 
those  last  lines  should  be  scratched  out. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Eunice’s  diary. 

I  said  to  Miss  Jillgall,  and  I  say  it  again,  here  :  Nothing 
will  induce  me  to  think  ill  of  Helena. 

My  sister  is  a  good  deal  tired  and  a  little  out  of  temper 
after  the  railway  journey.  This  is  exactly  what  happened 
to  me  when  I  went  to  London.  I  attributed  her  refusal  to 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIH. 


97 


let  me  read  her  journal,  after  she  had  read  mine,  entirely 
to  the  disagreeable  consequences  of  travelling  by  railway. 
Miss  Jillgall  accounted  for  it  otherwise  in  her  own  funny 
manner :  “  My  sweet  child,  your  sister’s  diary  is  full  of 
abuse  of  poor  me.”  I  humored  the  joke  :  “  Dearest  Selina, 
keep  a  diary  of  your  own,  and  fill  it  with  abuse  of  my 
sister.”  This  seemed  to  be  a  droll  saying  at  the  time. 
But  it  doesn’t  look  particularly  amusing,  now  it  is  written 
down.  We  had  ginger  wine  at  supper,  to  celebrate  Helena’s 
return.  Although  I  only  drank  one  glass,  I  daresay  it  may 
have  got  into  my  head. 

However  that  may  be,  when  the  lovely  moonlight 
tempted  us  into  the  garden,  there  was  an  end  to  all  our 
jokes.  We  had  something  to  talk  about  which  still  dwells 
disagreeably  on  my  mind. 

Miss  Jillgall  began  it. 

“  If  I  trust  you,  dearest  Eunice,  with  my  own  precious 
secrets,  shall  I  never,  never,  never  live  to  repent  it  ?  ” 

I  told  my  good  little  friend  that  she  might  depend  on  me, 
provided  her  secrets  did  no  harm  to  any  person  whom  I 
loved. 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  looked  up  at  the  moon.  I 
can  only 'suppose  that  her  sentiments  overpowered  her. 
She  said,  very  prettily,  that  her  heart  and  my  heart  beat 
together  in  heavenly  harmony.  It  is  needless  to  add  that 
this  satisfied  me. 

Miss  Jillgall’s  generous  confidence  in  my  discretion  was, 
I  am  afraid,  not  rewarded  as  it  ought  to  have  been.  I 
found  her  tiresome  at  first. 

She  spoke  of  an  excellent  friend  (a  lady),  who  had  helped 
her,  at  the  time  when  she  lost  her  little  fortune,  by  raising 
a  subscription  privately  to  pay  the  expenses  of  her  return 
to  England.  Her  friend’s  name — not  very  attractive  to 
English  ears — was  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  ;  they  had  first  be¬ 
come  acquainted  under  interesting  circumstances.  Miss 
Jillgall  had  happened  to  mention  that  my  father  was 
her  only  living  relative  ;  and  it  turned  out  that  Mrs.  Ten¬ 
bruggen  was  familiar  with  his  name,  and  reverenced  his 
fame  as  a  preacher.  When  he  had  generously  received 
his  poor  helpless  cousin  under  his  own  roof,  Miss  Jillgall’s 
gratitude  and  sense  of  duty  impelled  her  to  write,  and  tell 
Mrs.  Tenbruggen  how  happy  she  was  as  a  member  of  our 
family. 

Let  me  confess  that  I  began  to  listen  more  attentively 
when  the  narrative  reached  this  point. 

7 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


98 

“  I  drew  a  little  picture  of  our  domestic  circle  here,” 
Miss  Jillgall  said,  describing  her  letter  ;  “  and  I  mentioned 
the  mystery  in  which  Mr.  Gracedieu  conceals  the  ages  of 
you  two  dear  girls.  Mrs.  Tenbruggen — shall  we  shorten 
her  ugly  name,  and  call  her  Mrs.  T.  ?  Very  well — Mrs.  T. 
is  a  remarkably  clever  woman,  and  I  looked  for  interest¬ 
ing  results,  if  she  would  give  her  opinion  of  the  mysteri¬ 
ous  circumstances  mentioned  in  my  letter.” 

By  this  time,  I  was  all  eagerness  to  hear  more.  “  Has 
she  written  to  you  ?  ”  I  asked. 

Miss  Jillgall  looked  at  me  affectionately,  and  took  the 
reply  out  of  her  pocket. 

“  Listen,  Eunice  ;  and  you  shall  hear  her  own  words  : 
‘Your  letter,  dear  Selina,  especially  interests  me  by  what 
it  says  about  the  two  Miss  Gracedieus.’  Look,  dear  ;  she 
underlines  the  word  two.  Why,  I  can’t  explain.  Can 
you  ?  Ah,  I  thought  not.  Well,  let  us  get  back  to  the  let¬ 
ter.  My  accomplished  friend  continues  in  these  sympa¬ 
thetic  words  : 

“  ‘  I  can  understand  the  surprise  which  you  have  felt  at 
the  strange  course  taken  by  their  father,  as  a  means  of 
concealing  the  difference  which  there  must  be  in  the  ages 
of  these  young  ladies.  When  you  mentioned  the  Wesleyan 
minister,  I  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  tell  you  that  I 
knew  something  more  of  him  than  his  name.’  Rather  sly, 
I  think,  of  Mrs.  T.  ;  but  let  us  hear  what  she  has  to  say 
next.  Thus  it  goes  on  : 

“  ‘  Many  years  since,  I  happened  to  discover  a  romantic 
incident  in  the  life  of  this  popular  preacher,  which  he  has 
his  reasons,  as  I  suspect,  for  keeping  strictly  to  himself. 
If  I  may  venture  on  a  bold  guess,  I  should  say  that  any 
person  who  could  discover  which  was  the  oldest  of  the  two 
daughters,  would  be  also  likely  to  discover  the  true  nature 
of  the  romance  in  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  life.’  Isn’t  that  very 
remarkable,  Eunice?  You  don’t  seem  to  see  it — you 
funny  child  !  Pray  pay  particular  attention  to  what  comes 
next.  These  are  the  closing  sentences  in  my  friend’s  let¬ 
ter  : 

“  ‘  If  you  find  anything  new  to  tell  me  which  relates  to 
this  interesting  subject,  direct  your  letter  as  before — pro¬ 
vided  you  write  within  a  week  from  the  present  time.  Af¬ 
terward  my  letters  will  be  received  by  the  English  physi¬ 
cian  whose  card  I  enclose.  You  will  be  pleased  to  hear 
that  my  professional  interests  call  me  to  London  at  the  ear¬ 
liest  moment  that  I  can  spare.’  There,  dear  child,  the  let- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, \ 


99 


ter  comes  to  an  end.  I  dare  say  you  wonder  what  Mrs.  T. 
means,  when  she  alludes  to  her  professional  interests  ?” 

No  ;  I  was  not  wondering  at  anything.  It  hurt  me  to 
hear  of  a  strange  woman  exercising  her  ingenuity  in  guess¬ 
ing  at  mysteries  in  papa’s  life. 

But  Miss  Jillgall  was  too  eagerly  bent  on  setting  forth 
the  merits  of  her  friend  to  notice  this.  I  now  heard  that 
Mrs.  T.’s  marriage  had  turned  out  badly,  and  that  she  had 
been  reduced  to  earn  her  own  bread.  Her  manner  of  do¬ 
ing  this  was  something  quite  new  to  me.  She  went  about, 
from  one  place  to  another,  curing  people  of  all  sorts  of 
painful  maladies,  by  a  way  she  had  of  rubbing  them  with 
her  hands.  In  Belgium  she  was  called  a  “  Masseuse.” 
When  I  asked  what  this  meant  in  English,  I  was  told, 
“  Medical  Rubber,”  and  the  fame  of  Mrs.  T.’s  wonderful 
cures  had  reached  some  of  the  medical  newspapers  pub¬ 
lished  in  London. 

After  listening  (I  must  say  for  myself)  very  patiently,  I 
was  bold  enough  to  own  that  my  interest  in  what  I  had 
just  heard  was  not  quite  so  plain  to  me  as  I  could  have 
wished  it  to  be. 

Miss  Jillgall  looked  shocked  at  my  stupidity.  She  re¬ 
minded  me  that  there  was  a  mystery  in  Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s 
letter,  and  a  mystery  in  papa’s  strange  conduct  toward 
Philip.  “  Put  two  and  two  together,  darling,”  she  said  ; 
“and,  one  of  these  days,  they  may  make  four.” 

If  this  meant  anything,  it  meant  that  the  reason  which 
made  papa  keep  Helena’s  age  and  my  age  unknown  to 
everybody  but  himself,  was  also  the  reason  why  he  seemed 
to  be  strangely  unwilling  to  let  me  be  Philip’s  wife.  I 
really  could  not  endure  to  take  such  a  view  of  it  as  that, 
and  begged  Miss  Jillgall  to  drop  the  subject.  She  was  as 
kind  as  ever. 

“With  all  my  heart,  dear.  But  don’t  deceive  yourself 
— the  subject  will  turn  up  again  when  we  least  expect  it.” 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Only  two  days  now,  before  we  give  our  little  dinner¬ 
party,  and  Philip  finds  his  opportunity  of  speaking  to 
papa.  Oh,  how  I  wish  that  day  had  come  and  gone  ! 

I  try  not  to  take  gloomy  views  of  things  ;  but  I  am  not 
quite  so  happy  as  I  expected  to  be  when  my  dear  was  in 


IOO 


THE  LEGACY  OE  CALM 


the  same  town  with  me.  If  papa  had  encouraged  him  to 
call  again,  we  might  have  had  some  precious  time  to  our¬ 
selves.  As  it  is,  we  can  only  meet  in  the  different  show- 
places  in  the  town — with  Helena  on  one  side,  and  Miss 
Jillgall  on  the  other,  to  take  care  of  us.  I  do  call  it  cruel 
not  to  let  two  young  people  love  each  other,  without  set¬ 
ting  third  persons  to  watch  them.  If  I  was  queen  of  Eng¬ 
land,  I  would  have  pretty  private  bowers  made  for  lovers, 
in  the  summer,  and  nice  warm  little  rooms  to  hold  two,  in 
the  winter.  Why  not  ?  What  harm  could  come  of  it,  I 
should  like  to  know  ! 

The  cathedral  is  the  place  of  meeting  which  we  find 
most  convenient  under  the  circumstances.  There  are  de¬ 
lightful  nooks  and  corners  about  this  celebrated  building, 
in  which  lovers  can  lag  behind.  If  we  had  been  in  papa’s 
chapel  I  should  have  hesitated  to  turn  it  to  such  a  profane 
use  as  this  ;  the  cathedral  doesn’t  so  much  matter. 

Shall  I  own  that  I  felt  my  inferiority  to  Helena  a  little 
keenly  ?  She  could  tell  Philip  so  many  things  that  I 
should  have  liked  to  tell  him  first.  My  clever  sister 
taught  him  how  to  pronounce  the  name  of  the  bishop 
who  began  building  the  cathedral  ;  she  led  him  over  the 
crypt  and  told  him  how  old  it  was.  He  was  interested  in 
the  crypt  ;  he  talked  to  Helena  (not  to  me)  of  his  ambition 
to  write  a  work  on  cathedral  architecture  in  England  ;  he 
made  a  rough  little  sketch  in  his  book  of  our  famous  tomb 
of  some  king.  Helena  knew  the  late  royal  personage’s 
name,  and  Philip  showed  his  sketch  to  her  before  he 
showed  it  to  me.  How  can  I  blame  him,  when  I  stood 
there  the  picture  of  stupidity,  trying  to  recollect  some¬ 
thing  that  I  might  tell  him,  if  it  was  only  the  dean’s  name  ? 
Helena  might  have  whispered  it  to  me,  I  think.  She  re¬ 
membered  it,  not  I — and  mentioned  it  to  Philip,  of  course. 
I  kept  close  by  him  all  the  time,  and  now  and  then  he 
gave  me  a  look  which  raised  my  spirits.  He  might  have 
given  me  something  better  than  that — I  mean  a  kiss — 
when  we  had  left  the  cathedral  and  were  by  ourselves  for 
a  moment  in  a  corner  of  the  dean’s  garden.  But  he  missed 
the  opportunity.  Perhaps  he  was  afraid  of  the  dean  him¬ 
self  coming  that  way,  and  happening  to  see  us  ?  However, 
I  am  far  from  thinking  the  worst  of  Philip.  I  gave  his  arm 
a  little  squeeze — and  that  was  better  than  nothing. 

•  *  •  •  •  •  •  • 

He  and  I  took  a  walk  along  the  bank  of  the  river  to- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


ioi 


day;  my  sister  and  Miss  Jillgall  looking  after  us  as 
usual. 

On  the  way  through  the  town,  Helena  stopped  to  give 
an  order  at  a  shop.  She  asked  us  to  wait  for  her.  That 
best  of  good  creatures,  Miss  Jillgall,  whispered  in  my  ear  : 
“  Go  on  by  yourselves,  and  leave  me  to  wait  for  her.” 
Philip  interpreted  this  act  of  kindness  in  a  manner  which 
would  have  vexed  me,  if  I  had  not  understood  that  it  was 
one  of  his  jokes.  He  said  :  “Miss  Jillgall  sees  a  chance 
of  annoying  your  sister,  and  enjoys  the  prospect.” 

Well,  away  we  went  together  ;  it  was  just  what  I 
wanted  ;  it  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  saying  something 
to  Philip,  between  ourselves. 

I  could  not  beg  of  him,  in  his  interest  and  mine,  to 
make  the  best  of  himself  when  he  came  to  dinner.  Clever 
people,  I  told  him,  were  people  whom  papa  admired.  I 
said  :  “  Let  him  see,  dear,  how  clever  you  are,  and  how 
many  things  you  know — and  you  can’t  imagine  what  a 
high  place  you  will  have  in  his  opinion.  I  hope  you  don’t 
think  I  am  taking  too  much  on  myself  in  telling  you  how 
to  behave^” 

He  relieved  that  doubt  in  a  manner  which  I  despair  of 
describing.  Plis  eyes  rested  on  me  with  such  a  look  of 
exquisite  sweetness  and  love,  that  I  was  obliged  to  hold 
by  his  arm.  I  trembled  so  with  the  pleasure  of  feeling  it. 

“  I  do  sincerely  believe,”  he  said,  “  that  you  are  the 
most  innocent  girl,  the  sweetest,  truest  girl  that  ever 
lived.  I  wish  I  was  a  better  man,  Eunice  ;  I  wish  I  was 
good  enough  to  be  worthy  of  you  !  ” 

To  hear  him  speak  of  himself  in  that  way  jarred  on  me. 
If  such  words  had  fallen  from  any  other  man’s  lips,  I 
should  have  been  afraid  that  he  had  done  something,  or 
thought  something,  of  which  he  had  reason  to  feel 
ashamed.  With  Philip  this  was  impossible. 

He  was  eager  to  walk  on  rapidly,  and  to  turn  a  corner 
in  the  path,  before  we  could  be  seen.  “  I  want  to  be 
alone  with  you,”  he  said. 

I  looked  back.  We  were  too  late  ;  Helena  and  Miss 
Jillgall  had  nearly  overtaken  us.  My  sister  was  on  the 
point  of  speaking  to  Philip,  when  she  seemed  to  change 
her  mind,  and  only  looked  at  him.  Instead  of  looking  at 
her  in  return  he  kept  his  eyes  cast  down,  and  drew  figures 
on  the  pathway  with  his  stick.  I  think  Helena  was  out 
of  temper.  She  suddenly  turned  my  way.  “Why  didn’t 
you  wait  for  me  ?  ”  she  asked. 


102 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN \ 


Philip  took  her  up  sharply.  “  If  Eunice  likes  seeing  the 
river  better  than  waiting  in  the  street,”  he  said,  “  isn’t  she 
free  to  do  as  she  pleases  ?  ” 

Helena  said  nothing  more  ;  Philip  walked  on  slowly  by 
himself.  Not  knowing  what  to  make  of  it,  I  turned  to 
Miss  Jillgall. 

“  Surely  Philip  can’t  have  quarrelled  with  Helena  ?  ”  1 
said. 

Miss  Jillgall  answered  in  an  odd  off-hand  manner  : 
“  Not  he  !  He  is  a  great  deal  more  likely  to  have  quar¬ 
relled  with  himself.” 

“Why?” 

“  Suppose  you  ask  him  why  ?  ” 

It  was  not  to  be  thought  of  ;  it  would  have  looked  like 
prying  into  his  thoughts.  “  Selina  !  ”  I  said,  “  there  is 
something  odd  about  you  to-day.  What  is  the  matter  ? 
I  don’t  understand  you.” 

“  My  poor  dear,  you  will  find  yourself  understanding  me 
before  long.”  I  thought  I  saw  something  like  pity  in  her 
face  when  she  said  that. 

“  My  poor  dear  ?  ”  I  repeated.  “  What  makes  you  speak 
to  me  in  that  way  ?  ” 

“  I  don’t  know — I’m  tired  ;  I’m  an  old  fool — I’ll  go  back 
to  the  house.” 

Without  another  word  she  left  me.  I  turned  to  look  for 
Philip,  and  saw  that  my  sister  had  joined  him  while  I  had 
been  speaking  to  Miss  Jillgall.  It  pleased  me  to  find  that 
they  were  talking  in  a  friendly  way  when  I  joined  them. 
A  quarrel  between  Helena  and  my  husband  that  is  to  be — 
no,  that  shall  be — would  have  been  too  distressing,  too  un¬ 
natural,  I  might  almost  call  it. 

Philip  looked  along  the  backward  path,  and  asked  what 
had  become  of  Miss  Jillgall.  “  Plave  you  any  objection 
to  follow  her  example  ?”  he  said  to  me,  when  I  told  him 
that  Selina  had  gone  back.  “  I  don’t  care  for  the  banks 
of  this  river.  Suppose  you  show  me  some  new  sight  in 
the  town.” 

Helena,  who  used  to  like  the  river  at  other  times,  was  as 
ready  as  Philip  to  leave  it  now.  I  fancy  they  had  both 
been  kindly  waiting  to  change  our  walk,  till  I  came  to 
them,  and  they  could  study  my  wishes  too.  Of  course  I 
was  ready  to  go  where  they  pleased. 

“  Would  you  like  to  see  the  girls’  school  ?”  Helena  said 
to  Philip. 

It  appeared  to  be  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  to  him  ; 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAL H. 


103 


he  was  what  they  call  ironical.  “  Oh,  yes,  of  course. 
Deeply  interesting  !  deeply  interesting  !  ”  He  suddenly 
broke  into  the  wildest  good  spirits,  and  tucked  my  hand 
under  his  arm  with  a  gayety  which  it  was  impossible  to  re¬ 
sist.  “ What  a  boy  you  are!”  Helena  said,  enjoying  his 
delightful  hilarity  as  I  did.  She  walked  briskly  on  in  front 
of  us  ;  eager  to  show  a  stranger  our  Scripture  class,  and 
proud  of  her  own  share  in  managing  it,  as  she  had  good 
reason  to  be. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

On  entering  the  school-room  we  lost  our  gayety  all  in  a 
moment.  Something  unpleasant  had  evidently  happened. 

Two  of  the  eldest  girls  were  sitting  together  in  the  cor¬ 
ner,  separated  from  the  rest,  and  looking  most  wickedly 
sulky.  The  teachers  were  at  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
appearing  to  be  ill  at  ease.  And  there,  standing  in  the 
midst  of  them,  with  his  face  flushed  and  his  eyes  angry — 
there  was  papa  ;  sadly  unlike  his  gentle  self  in  the  days  of 
his  health  and  happiness.  On  former  occasions  when  the 
exercise  of  his  authority  was  required  in  the  school,  his 
forbearing  temper  always  set  things  right.  When  I  saw 
him  now  I  thought  of  what  the  doctor  had  said  of  his 
health,  on  my  way  home  from  tine  station. 

Papa  advanced  to  us  the  moment  we  showed  ourselves 
at  the  door. 

He  shook  hands — cordially  shook  hands — with  Philip. 
It  was  delightful  to  see  him,  delightful  to  hear  him  say  : 
“Pray  don’t  suppose,  Mr.  Dunboyne,  that  you  are  intrud¬ 
ing  ;  remain  with  us  by  all  means  if  you  like.”  Then  he 
spoke  to  Helena  and  to  me,  still  excited,  still  not  like  him¬ 
self  :  “  You  couldn’t  have  come  here,  my  dears,  at  a  time 
when  your  presence  was  more  urgently  needed.”  He 
turned  to  the  teachers.  “  Tell  my  daughters  what  has 
happened,  tell  them  why  they  see  me  here  — shocked  and 
distressed,  I  don’t  deny  it.’’ 

We  now  heard  that  the  two  girls  in  disgrace  had  broken 
the  rules,  and  in  such  a  manner  as  to  deserve  severe  pun¬ 
ishment. 

One  of  them  had  been  discovered  hiding  a  novel  in  her 
desk.  The  other  had  misbehaved  herself  more  seriously 
still — she  had  gone  to  the  theatre.  Instead  of  expressing 
any  regret,  they  had  actually  dared  to  complain  of  papa’s 


104 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, 


government  of  the  school.  They  accused  him  of  expect¬ 
ing  too  much  of  them  ;  of  forbidding  innocent  amuse¬ 
ments  ;  of  insisting  on  their  repeating  a  catechism  devised 
by  himself,  which  they  could  not  understand.  They  even 
insinuated  (and  this  was  what  had  made  him  so  angry)  that 
he  treated  them  with  severity  because  they  were  poor  girls, 
brought  up  on  charity.  “  If  we  had  been  young  ladies,” 
they  dared  to  say,  “  more  indulgence  would  have  been 
shown  to  us  ;  we  should  have  been  allowed  to  read  stories 
and  to  see  plays.” 

All  this  time  I  had  been  asking  myself  what  papa  meant 
when  he  told  us  we  could  not  have  come  to  the  school¬ 
room  at  a  better  time.  His  meaning  now  appeared. 
When  he  spoke  to  the  offending  girls,  he  pointed  to  Helena 
and  to  me. 

“  Here  are  my  daughters,”  he  said.  “  You  will  not  deny 
that  they  are  young  ladies.  Now  listen.  They  shall  tell 
you  themselves  whether  my  rules  make  any  difference  be¬ 
tween  them  and  you.  Helena!  Eunice!  do  I  allow  you 
to  read  novels  ?  do  I  allow  you  to  go  to  the  play  ?  ” 

We  answered  “No,” — and  hoped  it  was  over.  But  he 
had  not  done  yet.  He  turned  to  Helena. 

“Answer  some  of  the  questions,”  he  said,  “from  my 
Manual  of  Christian  Obligation,  which  these  girls  call  my 
catechism.”  He  asked  one  of  the  questions  :  “If  you  are 
told  to  do  unto  others  as  you  would  they  should  do  unto 
you,  and  if  you  find  a  difficulty  in  obeying  that  Divine  pre¬ 
cept,  what  does  your  duty  require?” 

It  is  my  belief  that  Helena  has  the  materials  in  her  for 
making  another  Joan  of  Arc.  She  rose,  and  answered 
without  the  slightest  sign  of  timidity  :  “  My  duty  requires 
me  to  go  to  the  minister,  and  to  ask  for  advice  and  en¬ 
couragement.” 

“  And  if  these  fail  ?  ” 

“  Then  I  am  to  remember  that  my  pastor  is  my  friend. 
He  claims  no  priestly  authority  or  priestly  infallibility. 
He  is  my  fellow-Christian  who  loves  me.  He  will  tell  me 
how  he  has  himself  failed  ;  how  he  has  struggled  against 
himself,  and  what  a  blessed  reward  has  followed  his  vic¬ 
tory — a  purified  heart,  a  peaceful  mind.” 

There  papa  released  my  sister,  after  she  had  only  re¬ 
peated  one  out  of  the  many  pages  of  religious  instruction 
which  we  first  began  to  learn  when  we  were  children. 
He  then  addressed  himself  again  to  the  girls. 

“  Is  what  you  have  just  heard  a  part  of  my  catechism  ? 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALM 


*°5 

Has  my  daughter  been  excused  from  repeating  it  because 
she  is  a  young  lady  ?  Where  is  the  difference  between  the 
religious  education  which  is  given  to  my  child,  and  given 
to  you  ?  ” 

The  wretched  girls  still  sat  silent  and  obstinate,  with 
their  heads  down.  I  tremble  again  as  I  write  of  what  hap¬ 
pened  next.  Papa  fixed  his  eye  s  on  me.  He  said  out 
loud  :  “  Eunice  !  ” — and  waited  for  me  to  rise  and  answer, 
as  my  sister  had  done.  N 

It  was  entirely  beyond  my  power  to  get  on  my  feet. 

Philip  had  (innocently,  I  am  sure)  discouraged  me  ; 
I  saw  displeasure,  I  saw  contempt  in  his  face.  There  was 
a  dead  silence  in  the  room.  Everybody  looked  at  me. 
My  heart  beat  furiously,  my  hands  turned  cold,  the  ques¬ 
tions  and  answers  in  “Christian  Obligation”  all  left  my 
memory  together.  I  looked  imploringly  at  papa. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  hard  on  me.  His 
eyes  were  as  angry  as  ever  ;  they  showed  me  no  mercy. 
Oh,  what  had  come  to  me  ?  what  evil  spirit  possessed  me  ? 
I  felt  resentment  ;  horrid,  undutiful  resentment,  at  being 
treated  in  this  cruel  way.  My  fists  clenched  themselves 
in  my  lap,  my  face  felt  as  hot  as  fire.  Instead  of  asking 
my  father  to  excuse  me,  I  said:  “I  can’t  do  it.”  He  was 
astonished,  as  well  he  might  be.  I  went  on  from  bad  to 
worse.  I  said  :  “  I  won’t  do  it.” 

He  stooped  over  me  ;  he  whispered  :  “  I  am  going  to 

ask  you  something  ;  I  insist  on  your  answering  Yes  or 
No.”  He  raised  his  voice  and  drew  himself  back  so  that 
they  could  all  see  me. 

“Have  you  been  taught  like  your  sister?”  he  asked. 
“  Has  that  catechism  that  has  been  her  religious  lesson 
for  all  her  life  been  your  religious  lesson  for  all  your  life, 
too?” 

I  said  :  “Yes  ” — and  I  was  in  such  a  rage  that  I  said  it 
out  loud.  If  Philip  had  handed  me  his  cane,  and  had  ad¬ 
vised  me  to  give  the  young  husseys  who  were  answerable 
for  this  dreadful  state  of  things  a  good  beating,  I  believed 
I  should  have  done  it.  Papa  turned  his  back  on  me,  and 
offered  the  girls  a  last  chance  :  “  Do  you  feel  sorry  for 
what  you  have  done  ?  Do  you  ask  to  be  forgiven  ?  ” 

Neither  the  one  nor  the  other  answered  him.  He  called 
across  the  room  to  the  teachers  :  “  Those  two  pupils  are 
expelled  from  the  school.” 

Both  the  women  looked  horrified.  The  elder  of  the  two 
approached  him,  and  tried  to  plead  for  a  milder  sentence. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALM 


106 

He  answered,  in  one  stern  word  :  “  Silence  !  ” — and  left  the 
school-room,  without  even  a  passing  bow  to  Philip.  And 
this,  after  he  had  cordially  shaken  hands  with  my  poor 
dear  not  half  an  hour  before. 

I  ought  to  have  made  affectionate  allowance  for  his  nerv¬ 
ous  miseries  ;  I  ought  to  have  run  after  him  and  begged 
his  pardon.  There  must  be  something  wrong,  I  am  afraid, 
in  girls  loving  anybody  but  their  fathers.  When  Helena 
led  the  way  out  by  another  door,  I  ran  after  Philip  ;  and  I 
asked  him  to  forgive  me. 

I  don’t  know  what  I  said  ;  it  was  all  confusion.  The 
fear  of  having  forfeited  his  fondness  must,  I  suppose,  have 
shaken  my  mind.  I  remember  entreating  Helena  to  say 
a  kind  word  for  me.  She  was  so  clever,  she  had  behaved 
so  well,  she  had  deserved  that  Philip  should  listen  to  her. 
“  Oh,”  I  cried  out  to  him,  desperately,  “  what  must  you 
think  of  me  ?  ” 

“  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you,”  he  said.  “  It  is 
your  father  who  is  at  fault,  Eunice — not  you.  Nothing 
could  have  been  in  worse  taste  than  his  management  of 
that  trumpery  affair  in  the  school-room  ;  it  was  a  com¬ 
plete  mistake  from  beginning  to  end.  Make  your  mind 
easy  ;  I  don’t  blame  you.” 

“Are  you,  really  and  truly,  as  fond  of  me  as  ever  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  to  be  sure  !  ” 

Helena  seemed  to  be  hardly  as  much  interested  in  this 
happy  ending  of  my  anxieties  as  I  might  have  anticipated. 
She  walked  on  by  herself.  Perhaps  she  was  thinking  of 
poor  papa’s  strange  outbreak  of  excitement  and  grieving 
over  it. 

We  had  only  a  little  way  to  walk  before  we  passed  the 
door  of  Philip’s  hotel.  He  had  not  yet  received  the  ex¬ 
pected  letter  from  his  father — the  cruel  letter  which  might 
recall  him  to  Ireland.  It  was  then  the  hour  of  delivery  by 
our  second  post  ;  he  went  in  to  look  at  the  letter-rack  in 
the  hall.  Helena  saw  that  I  was  anxious.  She  was  as 
kind  as  ever  ;  she  consented  to  wait  with  me  for  Philip,  at 
the  door. 

He  came  out  to  us  with  an  open  letter  in  his  hand. 

“  From  my  father,  at  last,”  he  said — and  gave  me  the  let¬ 
ter  to  read.  It  only  contained  these  few  lines  : 

“Do  not  be  alarmed,  my  dear  boy,  at  the  change  for  the 
worse  in  my  handwriting.  I  am  suffering  for  my  devotion 
to  the  studious  habits  of  a  lifetime  ;  my  right  hand  is  at¬ 
tacked  by  the  malady  called  writer’s  cramp.  The  doctor 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


107 


here  can  do  nothing.  He  tells  me  of  some  foreign  woman, 
mentioned  in  his  newspaper,  who  cures  nervous  derange¬ 
ments  of  all  kinds  by  hand-rubbing,  and  who  is  coming  to 
London  When  you  next  hear  from  me,  I  may  be  in  Lon¬ 
don  too  ” — There  the  letter  ended. 

Of  course  I  knew  who  the  foreign  woman,  mentioned  in 
the  newspaper,  was. 

But  what  does  Miss  Jillgall’s  friend  matter  to  me  ?  The 
one  important  thing  is,  that  Philip  has  not  been  called  back 
to  Ireland.  This  eventful  day  has  ended  happily,  after 

all. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Helena’s  diary. 

They  all  notice  at  home  that  I  am  looking  worn  and 
haggard.  That  hideous  old  maid,  Miss  Jillgall,  had  her 
malicious  welcome  ready  for  me,  when  we  met  at  break¬ 
fast,  this  morning  :  “  Dear  Helena,  what  has  become  of 
your  beauty  ?  One  would  think  you  had  left  it  in  your 
room  !  ”  Poor,  deluded  Eunice,  showed  her  sisterly  sym¬ 
pathy  :  “  Don’t  joke  about  it,  Selina  ;  can’t  you  see  that 

Helena  is  ill  ?  ” 

I  have  been  ill,  ill  of  my  own  wickedness. 

But  the  recovery  of  my  tranquillity  will  bring  with  it  the 
recovery  of  my  good  looks.  My  fatal  passion  for  Philip 
promises  to  be  the  utter  destruction  of  everything  that  is 
good  in  me.  Well  !  What  is  good  in  me  may  not  be 
worth  keeping.  There  is  a  fate  in  these  things.  If  I  am 
destined  to  rob  Eunice  of  the  one  dear  object  of  her  love 
and  hope — how  can  I  resist  ?  The  one  kind  thing  I  can 
do  is  to  keep  her  in  ignorance  of  what  is  coming  by  acts 
of  affectionate  deceit. 

Besides,  if  she  suffers,  I  suffer,  too.  In  the  length  and 
breadth  of  England,  I  doubt  if  there  is  a  much  more 
wicked  young  woman  to  be  found  than  myself.  Is  it 
nothing  to  feel  that,  and  to  endure  it  as  I  do  ? 

Upon  my  word,  there  is  no  excuse  for  me  ! 

Is  this  sheer  impudence  ?  No  ;  it  is  the  bent  of  my 
nature.  I  have  a  tendency  to  self-examination,  accom¬ 
panied  by  one  merit — I  don’t  spare  myself. 

There  are  excuses  for  Eunice.  She  lives  in  a  fool’s 
paradise  ;  and  she  sees  in  her  lover  a  radiant  creature 


io8 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


shining  in  the  halo  thrown  over  him  by  her  own  self-de¬ 
lusion.  Nothing  of  this  sort  is  to  be  said  for  me.  I  see 
Philip  as  he  is.  My  penetration  looks  into  the  lowest 
depths  of  his  character — when  I  am  not  in  his  company. 
There  seems  to  be  a  foundation  of  good  somewhere  in  his 
nature.  He  despises  and  hates  himself  (he  has  confessed 
it  to  me),  when  Eunice  is  with  him  ;  still  believing  in  her 
false  sweetheart.  But  how  long  do  these  better  influences 
last?  I  have  only  to  show  myself,  in  my  sister’s  absence, 
and  Philip  is  mine,  body  and  soul.  Plis  vanity  and  his 
weakness  take  possession  of  him  the  moment  he  sees  my 
face.  He  is  one  of  those  men — even  in  my  little  experi¬ 
ence  I  have  met  with  them— who  are  born  to  be  led  by 
women.  If  Eunice  had  possessed  my  strength  of  charac¬ 
ter,  he  would  have  been  true  to  her  for  life. 

Ought  I  not,  in  justice  to  myself,  to  have  lifted  my  heart 
high  above  the  reach  of  such  a  creature  as  this  ?  Certain¬ 
ly  I  ought !  I  know  it,  I  feel  it.  And  yet,  there  is  some 
fascination  in  loving  him  which  I  am  absolutely  unable  to 
resist. 

What,  I  ask  myself,  had  fed  the  new  flame  which  is 
burning  in  me  ?  Did  it  begin  with  gratified  pride  ?  I 
might  well  feel  proud  when  I  found  myself  admired  by  a 
man  of  his  beauty,  set  off  by  such  manners  and  sucli  ac¬ 
complishments  as  his.  Besides,  might  not  the  growth  of 
this  masterful  feeling  have  been  encouraged  by  the  envy 
and  jealousy  stirred  in  me,  when  I  found  Eunice  (my  in¬ 
ferior  in  every  respect)  distinguished  by  the  devotion  of  a 
handsomer  lover,  and  having  a  brilliant  marriage  in  view 
— while  I  was  left  neglected,  with  no  prospect  of  changing 
my  title  from  Miss  to  Mrs.?  Vain  inquiries  !  My  wicked 
heart  seems  to  have  secrets  of  its  own,  and  to  keep  them  a 
mystery  to  me. 

What  has  become  of  my  excellent  education  ? 

I  don’t  care  to  inquire  ;  I  have  got  beyond  the  reach 
of  good  books  and  righteous  examples.  I  have  gone  to 
a  new  school,  to  study  the  subject  of  love.  Among  my 
other  blameable  actions  there  may  now  be  reckoned  diso¬ 
bedience  to  my  father.  I  have  been  reading  novels  in  se¬ 
cret. 

At  first  I  tried  some  of  the  famous  English  works,  pub¬ 
lished  at  a  price  within  the  reach  of  small  purses.  Very 
well  written,  no  doubt,  but  with  one  unpardonable  draw¬ 
back,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  Our  celebrated  native 
authors  address  themselves  to  good  people,  or  to  penitent 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, 


109 


people  who  want  to  be  made  good  ;  not  to  wicked  readers 
like  me. 

Arriving  at  this  conclusion  I  tried  another  experiment. 
In  a  small  bookseller’s  shop  I  discovered  some  cheap 
translations  of  French  novels.  Here  I  found  what  I 
wanted — sympathy  with  sin.  Here  there  was  opened  to 
me  a  new  world  inhabited  entirely  by  unrepentant  peo¬ 
ple  ;  the  magnificent  women  diabolically  beautiful  ;  the 
satanic  men  dead  to  every  sense  of  virtue,  and  alive — per¬ 
haps  rather  dirtily  alive — to  the  splendid  fascinations  of 
crime.  I  know  now  that  love  is  above  everything  but  it¬ 
self.  Love  is  the  one  law  that  we  are  all  bound  to  obey. 
How  deep  !  how  consoling  !  how  admirably  true  !  The 
novelists  of  England  have  reason  indeed  to  hide  their 

heads  before  the  novelists  of  France.  All  that  I  have  felt, 
*  •  *  •  •  •  ' 
and  have  written  here,  is  inspired  by  these  wonderful  au¬ 
thors. 

I  have  relieved  my  mind,  and  may  now  return  to  the 
business  of  my  diary — the  record  of  domestic  events. 

An  overwhelming  disappointment  has  fallen  on  Eunice. 
Our  dinner  party  has  been  put  off. 

The  state  of  father’s  health  is  answerable  for  this  change 
in  our  arrangements.  That  wretched  scene  at  the  school, 
complicated  by  my  sister’s  undutiful  behavior  at  the  time, 
so  seriously  excited  him  that  he  passed  a  sleepless  night, 
and  kept  his  bed-room  throughout  the  day.  Eunice’s  to¬ 
tal  want  of  discretion  added,  no  doubt,  to  his  sufferings  ; 
she  rudely  intruded  on  him  to  express  her  regret  and  to 
ask  his  pardon.  Having  carried  her  point,  she  was  at 
leisure  to  come  to  me,  and  to  ask  (how  amazingly  simple 
of  her)  what  she  and  Philip  were  to  de  next. 

“We  had  arranged  it  all  so  nicely,”  the  poor  wretch  be¬ 
gan.  “  Philip  was  to  have  been  so  clever  and  agreeable 
at  dinner,  and  was  to  have  chosen  his  time  so  very  dis¬ 
cretely,  that  papa  would  have  been  ready  to  listen  to  any¬ 
thing  he  said.  Oh,  we  should  have  succeeded,  I  haven’t  a 
doubt  of  it !  Our  only  hope,  Helena,  is  in  you.  What 
are  we  to  do  now  ?  ” 

“Wait,”  I  answered. 

“  Wait  ?”  she  repeated,  hotly.  “  Is  my  heart  to  be  bro¬ 
ken  ?  and,  what  is  more  cruel  still,  is  Philip  to  be  disap¬ 
pointed  ?  I  expected  something  more  sensible,  my  dear, 
from  you.  What  possible  reason  can  there  be  for  wait- 
ing?” 

The  reason — if  I  could  only  have  mentioned  it — was  be- 


no 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CA IN'. 


yond  dispute.  I  wanted  time  to  quiet  Philip’s  uneasy 
conscience,  and  to  harden  his  weak  mind  against  out¬ 
bursts  of  violence  on  Eunice’s  part,  which  would  certainly 
exhibit  themselves  when  she  found  that  she  had  lost  her 
lover,  and  lost  him  to  me.  In  the  meanwhile,  I  had  to 
produce  my  reason  for  advising  her  to  wait.  It  was  easily 
done.  I  reminded  her  of  the  irritable  condition  of  our  fa¬ 
ther’s  nerves,  and  gave  it  as  my  opinion  that  he  would 
certainly  say  No,  if  she  was  unwise  enough  to  excite  him 
in  his  present  frame  of  mind. 

These  unanswerable  considerations  seemed  to  produce 
the  right  effect  on  her.  “  I  suppose  you  know  best,”  was 
all  she  said.  And  then  she  left  me. 

I  let  her  go  without  feeling  any  distrust  of  this  act  of 
submission  on  her  part  ;  it  was  such  a  common  experi¬ 
ence  in  my  life  to  find  my  sister  guiding  herself  by  my  ad¬ 
vice.  But  experience  is  not  always  to  be  trusted.  Events 
soon  showed  that  I  had  failed  to  estimate  Eunice’s  re¬ 
sources  of  obstinacy  and  cunning  at  their  true  value. 

Half  an  hour  later  I  heard  the  street  door  closed,  and 
looked  out  of  the  window.  Miss  Jillgall  was  leaving  the 
house  ;  no  one  was  with  her.  My  dislike  of  this  person 
led  me  astray  once  more.  I  ought  to  have  suspected  her 
of  being  bent  on  some  mischievous  errand,  and  to  have 
devised  some  means  of  putting  my  suspicions  to  the  test. 
I  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  In  the  moment  when  I  turned 
my  head  away  from  the  window,  Miss  Jillgall  was  a  per¬ 
son  forgotten,  and  I  was  a  person  who  had  made  a  seri¬ 
ous  mistake. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

The  events  of  to-day  began  with  the  delivery  of  a  mes¬ 
sage  summoning  me  to  my  father’s  study.  He  had  de¬ 
cided— too  hastily,  as  I  feared — that  he  was  sufficiently 
recovered  to  resume  his  usual  employments.  I  was  writ¬ 
ing  to  his  dictation,  when  we  Avere  interrupted.  Maria 
announced  a  visit  from  Mr.  Dunboyne. 

Hitherto,  Philip  had  been  content  to  send  one  of  the 
servants  of  the  hotel  to  make  inquiry  after  Mr.  Grace- 
dieu’s  health.  Why  had  he  now  called  personally  ?  No¬ 
ticing  that  father  seemed  to  be  annoyed,  I  tried  to  make 
an  opportunity  of  receiving  Philip  myself.  “  Let  me  see 
him,”  I  suggested  ;  “  I  can  easily  say  you  are  engaged.” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALX. 


in 


Very  unwillingly,  as  it  was  easy  to  see,  my  father  de¬ 
clined  to  allow  this.  “  Mr.  Dunboyne’s  visit  pays  me  a 
compliment,”  he  said  ;  “and  I  must  receive  him.”  I  made 
a  show  of  leaving  the  room,  and  was  called  back  to  my 
chair.  “  This  is  not  a  private  interview,  Helena  ;  stay 
where  you  are.” 

Philip  came  in  • —  handsomer  than  ever,  beautifully 
dressed — and  paid  his  respects  to  my  father  with  his  cus¬ 
tomary  grace.  He  was  too  well  bred  to  allow  any  visible 
signs  of  embarrassment  to  escape  him.  But  when  he 
shook  hands  with  me,  I  felt  a  little  trembling  in  his  fin¬ 
gers,  through  the  delicate  gloves  which  fitted  him  like  a 
second  skin.  Was  it  the  true  object  of  his  visit  to  try  the 
experiment  designed  by  Eunice  and  himself,  and  deferred 
by  the  postponement  of  our  dinner  party  ?  Impossible, 
surely,  that  my  sister  could  have  practised  on  his  weak¬ 
ness,  and  persuaded  him  to  return  to  his  first  love  !  I 
waited,  in  breathless  interest,  for  his  next  words.  They 
were  not  worth  listening  to.  Oh,  the  poor,  commonplace 
creature  ! 

“  I  am  glad,  Mr.  Gracedieu,  to  see  that  you  are  well 
enough  to  be  in  your  study  again,”  he  said.  The  writing 
materials  on  the  table  attracted  his  attention.  “  Am  I  one 
of  the  idle  people,”  he  asked,  with  his  charming  smile, 
“  who  are  always  interrupting  useful  employment  ?” 

He  spoke  to  my  father,  and  he  was  answered  by  my  fa¬ 
ther.  Not  once  had  he  addressed  a  word  to  me — no,  not 
even  when  we  shook  hands.  I  was  angry  enough  to  force 
him  into  taking  some  notice  of  me,  and  to  make  an  at¬ 
tempt  to  confuse  him  at  the  same  time. 

“Have  you  seen  my  sister?  ”  I  asked. 

“No.” 

It  was  the  shortest  reply  that  lie  could  choose.  Having 
flung  it  at  me,  he  still  persisted  in  looking  at  my  father  and 
speaking  to  mv  father  :  “  Do  you  think  of  trying  change  of 
air,  Mr.  Gracedieu,  when  you  feel  strong  enough  to  travel  ?” 

“My  duties  keep  me  here,”  father  answered;  “and  I 
cannot  honestly  say  that  I  enjoy  travelling.  I  dislike  man¬ 
ners  and  customs  that  are  strange  to  me  ;  I  don’t  find  that 
hotels  reward  me  for  giving  up  the  comforts  of  my  own 
house.  How  do  you  find  the  hotel  here  ?” 

“  I  submit  to  the  hotel,  sir.  They  are  sad  savages  in  the 
kitchen  ;  they  put  mushroom  ketchup  into  their  soup,  and 
mustard  and  cayenne  pepper  into  their  salads.  I  am  half 
starved  at  dinner-time,  but  I  don’t  complain.” 


112 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN". 


Every  word  he  said  was  an  offence  to  me.  With  or 
without  reason,  I  attacked  him  again. 

“I  have  heard  you  acknowledge  that  the  landlord  and 
landlady  are  very  obliging  people,”  I  said.  “  Why  don’t 
you  ask  them  to  let  you  make  your  own  soup  and  mix 
your  own  salad  ?  ” 

I  wondered  whether  I  should  succeed  in  attracting  his 
notice  after  this.  Even  in  these  private  pages,  my  self¬ 
esteem  finds  it  hard  to  confess  what  happened.  I  succeed¬ 
ed  in  reminding  Philip  that  he  had  his  reason  for  request¬ 
ing  me  to  leave  the  room. 

“Will  you  excuse  me,  Miss  Helena,”  he  said,  “if  I  ask 
leave  to  speak  to  Mr.  Gracedieu  in  private  ?  ” . 

The  right  thing  for  me  to  do  was,  let  me  hope,  the  thing 
that  I  did.  I  rose,  and  waited  to  see  if  my  father  would 
interfere.  Pie  looked  at  Philip  with  suspicion  in  his  face, 
as  well  as  surprise.  “May  I  ask,”  he  said,  coldly,  “what 
is  the  object  of  the  interview?” 

“Certainly,”  Philip  answered,  “when  we  are  alone.” 
This  cool  reply  placed  my  father  between  two  alternatives  : 
he  must  either  give  way,  or  be  guilty  of  an  act  of  rudeness 
to  a  guest  in  his  own  house.  The  choice  reserved  for  me 
was  narrower  still — I  had  to  decide  between  being  told  to 
go,  or  going  of  my  own  accord.  Of  course,  I  left  them 
together. 

The  door  which  communicated  with  the  next  room  was 
pulled  to,  but  not  closed.  On  the  other  side  of  it  I  found 
Eunice. 

“  Listening  !  ”  I  said,  in  a  whisper. 

“  Yes,”  she  whispered  back  ;  “you  listen  too  !” 

I  was  so  indignant  with  Philip,  and  so  seriously  interest¬ 
ed  in  what  was  going  on  in  the  study,  that  I  yielded  to 
temptation.  We  both  degraded  ourselves.  We  both  lis¬ 
tened. 

Eunice’s  base  lover  spoke  first.  Judging  by  the  change 
in  his  voice,  lie  must  have  seen  something  in  my  father’s 
face  that  daunted  him.  Eunice  heard  it  too.  “  He’s  get¬ 
ting  nervous,”  she  whispered  ;  “  he’ll  forget  to  say  the  right 
thing  at  the  right  time.” 

“  Mr.  Gracedieu,”  Philip  began,  “  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you - ” 

Father  interrupted  him  :  “  We  are  alone  now,  Mr.  Dun- 
boyne.  I  want  to  know  why  you  consult  me  in  private.” 

“  I  am  anxious  to  consult  you,  sir,  on  a  subject - ” 

“  On  what  subject  ?  Any  religious  difficulty  ?  ” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


113 


“  No.” 

“  Anything  I  can  do  for  you  in  the  town  ?  ” 

“  Not  at  all.  If  you  will  only  allow  me - ” 

“  1  am  still  waiting,  sir,  to  know  what  it  is  about.” 

“  Philip’s  voice  suddenly  became  an  angry  voice. 
“  Once  for  all,  Mr.  Gracedieu,”  he  said,  “  will  you  let  me 
speak  ?  It’s  about  your  daughter - ” 

“No  more  of  it,  Mr.  Dunboyne  !  ”  (My  father  was  now 
as  loud  as  Philip.)  “  I  don’t  desire  to  hold  a  private  con¬ 
versation  with  you  on  the  subject  of  my  daughter.” 

“If  you  have  any  personal  objection  to  me,  sir,  be  so 
good  as  to  state  it  plainly.” 

“  You  have  no  right  to  ask  me  to  do  that.” 

“  You  refuse  to  do  it  ?  ” 

“  Positively.” 

“You  are  rude,  Mr.  Gracedieu.” 

“  If  I  speak  plainly,  Mr.  Dunboyne,  you  have  yourself 
to  thank  for  it.” 

Philip  replied  to  this  in  a  tone  of  savage  irony.  “  You 
are  a  minister  of  religion,  and  you  are  an  old  man.  Two 
privileges — and  you  presume  on  them  both.  Good  morn¬ 
ing-” 

I  drew  back  into  a  corner,  just  in  time  to  escape  dis¬ 
covery  in  the  character  of  a  listener.  Eunice  never  moved. 
When  Philip  dashed  into  the  room,  banging  the  door  alter 
him,  she  threw  herself  impulsively  on  his  breast  :  “  Oh, 
Philip  !  Philip  !  what  have  you  done  ?  Why  didn’t  you 
keep  your  temper  ?” 

“  Did  you  hear  what  your  father  said  to  me  ?”  he  asked. 

“Yes,  dear  ;  but  you  ought  to  have  controlled  yourself 
— you  ought  indeed,  for  my  sake.” 

Her  arms  were  still  *around  him.  It  struck  me  that  he 
felt  her  influence.  “  Help  me  to  recover  myself,”  he  said, 
gently.  “You  had  better  let  me  go.” 

“Oh,  how  cruel,  Philip,  to  leave  me  when  I  am  so 
wretched  !  Why  do  you  want  to  go  ?  ” 

“You  told  me  just  now  what  I  ought  to  do,”  he  an¬ 
swered,  still  restraining  himself.  “  If  I  am  to  get  the  bet¬ 
ter  of  my  temper,  I  must  be  left  alone.” 

“  I  never  said  anything  about  your  temper,  darling.” 

“  Didn’t  you  tell  me  to  control  myself  ?  ” 

“  Oh,  yes  !  Go  back  to  papa  and  beg  him  to  forgive 
you.” 

“  I’ll  see  him  damned  first !  ” 

If  ever  a  stupid  girl  deserved  such  an  answer  as  this,  the 
8 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


114 

girl  was  my  sister.  I  had  hitherto,  with  some  difficulty, 
refrained  from  interfering.  But  when  Eunice  tried  to 
follow  Philip  out  of  the  house,  I  could  hesitate  no  longer  ; 
I  held  her  back.  “You  fool,”  I  said,  “  haven’t  you  made 
mischief  enough  already  ?” 

“What  am  I  to  do?”  she  burst  out,  helplessly. 

“  Do  what  I  told  you  to  do  yesterday — wait.” 

Before  she  could  reply,  or  I  could  say  anything  more, 
the  door  that  led  to  the  landing  was  opened  softly  and 
slyly,  and  Miss  Jillgall  peeped  in.  Eunice  instantly  left 
me  and  ran  to  the  meddling  old  maid.  They  whispered 
to  each  other.  Miss  Jillgall’s skinny  arm  encircled  my  sis¬ 
ter’s  waist  ;  they  disappeared  together. 

I  was  only  too  glad  to  get  rid  of  them  both,  and  to  take 
the  opportunity  of  writing  to  Philip.  I  insisted  on  an  ex¬ 
planation  of  his  conduct  while  I  was  in  the  study — to  be 
given  within  an  hour’s  time,  at  a  place  which  I  appointed. 
“You  are  not  to  attempt  to  justify  yourself  in  writing,”  I 
added  in  conclusion.  “  Let  your  reply  merely  inform  me  if 
you  can  keep  the  appointment.  The  rest,  when  we  meet.” 

Maria  took  the  letter  to  the  hotel,  with  instructions  to 
wait. 

Philip’s  reply  reached  me  without  delay.  It  pledged 
him  to  justify  himself  as  I  had  desired,  and  to  keep  the 
appointment.  My  own  belief  is  that  the  event  of  to  day 
will  decide  his  future  and  mine. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Eunice’s  diary. 

Indeed,  I  am  a  most  unfortunate  creature  ;  everything 
turns  out  badly  with  me.  My  good  true  friend,  my  dear 
Selina,  has  become  the  object  of  a  hateful  doubt  in  my 
secret  mind.  I  am  afraid  she  is  keeping  something  from 
me.  e 

Talking  with  her  about  my  troubles,  I  heard  for  the 
first  time  that  she  had  written  again  to  Mrs.  Tenbruggen. 
The  object  of  her  letter  was  to  tell  her  friend  of  my  en¬ 
gagement  to  young  Mr.  Dunboyne.  I  asked  her  why  she 
had  done  this.  The  answer  informed  me  that  there  was 
no  knowing,  in  the  present  state  of  my  affairs,  how  soon 
I  might  not  want  the  help  of  a  clever  woman.  I  ought,  I 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIH. 


IXS 

suppose,  to  have  been  satisfied  with  this.  But  there 
seemed  to  be  something  not  fully  explained  yet. 

Then  again,  after  telling  Selina  what  I  heard  in  the 
study,  and  how  roughly  Philip  had  spoken  to  me  after¬ 
ward,  f  asked  her  what  she  thought  of  it.  She  made  an 
incomprehensible  reply  :  “  My  sweet  child,  I  mustn’t  think 
of  it — I  am  too  fond  of  you.” 

It  was  impossible  to  make  her  explain  what  this  meant. 
She  began  to  talk  of  Philip  ;  assuring  me  (which  was  quite 
needless)  that  she  had  done  her  best  to  fortify  and  encour¬ 
age  him,  before  he  called  on  papa.  When  I  asked  her  to 
help  me  in  another  way — that  is  to  say,  when  I  wanted  to 
find  out  where  Philip  was  at  that  moment — she  had  no 
advice  to  give  me.  I  told  her  that  I  should  not  enjoy  a 
moment’s  ease  of  mind,  until  I  and  my  dear  one  were 
reconciled.  She  only  shook  her  head  and  declared  that 
she  was  sorry  for  me.  When  I  hit  on  the  idea  of  ringing 
for  Maria,  this  little  woman,  so  bright  and  quick  and  eager 
to  help  me  at  other  times,  said  :  “  I  leave  it  to  you,  dear,” 
and  turned  to  the  piano  (close  to  which  I  was  sitting),  and 
played  softly  and  badly  stupid  little  tunes. 

“  Maria,  did  you  open  the  door  for  Mr.  Dunboyne  when 
he  went  away  just  now  ?” 

“No,  miss.” 

Nothing  but  ill  luck  for  me  !  If  I  had  been  left  to  my 
own  devices,  I  should  now  have  let  the  housemaid  go. 
But  Selina  contrived  to  give  me  a  hint,  on  a  strange  plan 
of  her  own.  Still  at  the  piano,  she  began  to  confuse  talk¬ 
ing  to  herself  with  playing  to  herself.  The  notes  went 
tinkle,  tinkle — and  the  tongue  mixed  up  words  with  the 
notes  in  this  way  :  u Perhaps  they  have  been  talking  in  the 
kitchen  about  Philip  ?” 

The  suggestion  was  not  lost  on  me.  I  said  to  Maria — 

oo 

who  was  standing  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  near  the 
door — “  Did  you  happen  to  hear  which  way  Mr.  Dunboyne 
went  when  he  left  us  ?  ” 

“  I  know  where  he  wTas,  miss,  half  an  hour  ago.” 

“  Where  was  he  ?  ” 

“At  the  hotel.” 

Selina  went  on  with  her  hints  in  the  same  sly  way  as  be¬ 
fore.  “How  does  she  know — ah,  how  does  she  know?” 
was  the  vocal  part  of  the  performance  this  time.  My 
clever  inquiries  followed  the  vocal  part  as  before  : 

“  How  do  you  know  that  Mr.  Dunboyne  was  at  the  ho¬ 
tel  ?  ” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIH. 


116 

“  I  was  sent  there  with  a  letter  for  him,  and  waited  for 
the  answer.’' 

There  was  no  prompting  required  this  time.  The  one 
possible  question  was  :  “  Who  sent  you  ?  ” 

Maria  replied,  after  first  reserving  a  condition:  “You 
won’t  tell  upon  me,  miss?” 

I  promised  not  to  tell.  Selina  suddenly  left  oft  playing. 

“  Well  ?”  I  repeated,  “  who  sent  you  ?  ” 

“  Miss  Helena.’’ 

Selina  looked  round  at  me.  Her  little  eyes  seemed  to 
have  suddenly  become  big,  they  stared  me  so  roundly  in 
the  face.  I  don’t  know  whether  she  was  in  a  state  of 
fright  or  of  wonder.  As  for  myself,  I  simply  lost  the  use 
of  my  tongue.  Maria,  having  no  more  questions  to  an¬ 
swer,  discreetly  left  us  together. 

Why  should  Helena  write  to  Philip  at  all,  and  especially 
without  mentioning  it  to  me  ?  Here  was  a  riddle  which 
was  more  than  I  could  guess.  I  asked  Selina  to  help  me. 
She  might  at  least  have  tried,  I  thought  ;  but  she  looked 
uneasy,  and  made  excuses. 

I  said  :  “  Suppose  I  go  to  Helena  and  ask  her  why  she 
wrote  to  Philip?”  And  Selina  said  :  “Suppose  you  do, 
dear.” 

I  rang  for  Maria  once  more.  “  Do  you  know  where  my 
sister  is  ?  ” 

“Just  gone  out,  miss.” 

There  was  no  help  for  it  but  to  wait  till  she  came  back, 
and  to  get  through  the  time  in  the  interval  as  I  best  might. 
But  for  one  circumstance  I  might  not  have  known  what 
to  do.  The  truth  is,  there  was  a  feeling  of  shame  in  me 
when  I  remembered  having  listened  at  the  study  door. 
Curious  notions  come  into  one’s  head — one  doesn’t  know 
how  or  why.  It  struck  me  that  I  might  make  a  kind  of 
atonement  for  having  been  mean  enough  to  listen  if  I  went 
to  papa  and  offered  to  keep  him  company  in  his  solitude. 
If  we  fell  into  pleasant  talk  I  had  a  sly  idea  of  my  own — 
I  meant  to  put  in  a  good  word  for  poor  Philip. 

When  I  confided  my  design  to  Selina  she  shut  up  the 
piano  and  ran  across  the  room  to  me.  But  somehow  she 
was  not  like  her  own  self  again,  yet. 

“You  good  little  soul,  you  are  always  right.  Look  at 
me  again,  Eunice.  Are  you  beginning  to  doubt  me  ? 
Oh,^  my  darling,  don’t  do  that !  It  isn’t  using  me  fairly.  I 
can’t  bear  it — I  can’t  bear  it !  ” 

I  took  her  hand  ;  I  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  to  her 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


117 

with  the  kindness  she  deserved  from  me.  On  a  sudden 
she  snatched  her  hand  away  and  ran  back  to  the  piano. 
When  she  was  seated  on  the  music-stool  her  face  was  hid¬ 
den  from  me.  At  that -moment  she  broke  into  a  strange 
cry — it  began  like  a  laugh  and  it  ended  like  a  sob. 

“  Go  away  to  papa  !  Don’t  mind  me — I’m  a  creature  of 
impulse — ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  a  little  hysterical — the  state  of  the 
weather — I  get  rid  of  these  weaknesses,  my  dear,  by  sing¬ 
ing  to  myself.  I  have  a  favorite  song  :  ‘  My  heart  is  light, 
my  will  is  free.’  Go  away  t  oh,  for  God’s  sake,  go  away  !  ” 

I  had  heard  of  hysterics,  of  course  ;  knowing  nothing 
about  them,  however,  by  my  own  experience.  What 
could  have  happened  to  agitate  her  in  this  extraordinary 
manner  ? 

Had  Helena’s  letter  anything  to  do  with  it?  Was  my 
sister  indignant  with  Philip  for  swearing  in  my  presence  ; 
and  had  she  written  him  an  angry  letter,  in  her  zeal  on  my 
behalf  ?  But  Selina  could  not  possibly  have  seen  the  let¬ 
ter — and  Helena  (who  is  often  hard  on  me  when  I  do 
stupid  things)  showed  little  indulgence  for  me  when  I  was 
so  unfortunate  as  to  irritate  Philip.  I  gave  up  the  hope¬ 
less  attempt  to  get  at  the  truth  by  guessing,  and  went 
away  to  forget  my  troubles,  if  I  could,  in  my  father’s  so¬ 
ciety. 

After  knocking  twice  at  the  door  of  the  study,  and  re¬ 
ceiving  no  reply,  I  ventured  to  look  in. 

The  sofa  in  this  room  stood  opposite  the  door.  Papa 
was  resting  on  it,  but  not  in  comfort.  There  were  twitch¬ 
ing  movements  in  his  feet,  and  he  shifted  his  arms  this 
way  and  that,  as  if  no  restful  posture  could  be  found  for 
them.  But  what  frightened  me,  was  this.  His  eyes,  star¬ 
ing  straight  at  the  door  by  which  I  had  gone  in,  had  an 
inquiring  expression,  as  if  he  actually  did  not  know  me  ! 
I  stood  midway  between  the  door  and  the  sofa,  doubtful 
about  going  nearer  to  him. 

He  said  :  “Who  is  it?”  This  to  me — to  his  own  daugh¬ 
ter.  He  said  :  “What  do  you  want  ?  ” 

I  really  could  not  bear  it.  I  went  up  to  him.  I  said  : 
“  Papa,  have  you  forgotten  Eunice  ?  ” 

My  name  seemed  (if  one  may  say  such  a  thing)  to  bring 
him  to  himself  again.  He  sat  up  on  the  sofa — and  laughed 
as  he  answered  me. 

“  My  dear  child,  what  delusion  has  got  into  that  pretty 
little  head  of  yours  ?  Fancy  her  thinking  that  I  had  for¬ 
gotten  my  own  daughter  !  I  was  lost  in  thought,  Eunice. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. \ 


nS 

For  the  moment,  I  was  what  they  call  an  absent  man. 
Did  I  ever  tell  you  the  story  of  the  absent  man  ?  He 
went  to  call  upon  some  acquaintance  of  his;  and  when 
the  servant  said,  ‘What  name,  sir?’  he  couldn’t  answer. 
He  was  obliged  to  confess  that  he  had  forgotten  his  own 
name.  The  servant  said,  ‘  That’s  very  strange.’  The  ab¬ 
sent  man  at  once  recovered  himself.  ‘  That’s  it !  ’  he  said  ; 
‘  my  name  is  Strange.’  Droll,  isn’t  it  ?  If  I  had  been  call¬ 
ing  on  a  friend  'to-day,  I  daresay  I  might  have  forgotten 
my  name,  too.  Much  to  think  of,  Eunice — too  much  to 
think  of.” 

Leaving  the  sofa  with  a  sigh,  as  if  he  was  tired  of  it,  he 
began  walking  up  and  down.  He  seemed  to  be  still  in 
good  spirits.  “Well,  my  dear,”  lie  said,  “what  can  I  do 
for  you  ?  ” 

“  I  came  here,  papa,  to  see  if  there  was  anything  I 
could  do  for  you  ” 

He  looked  at  some  sheets  of  paper,  strung  together 
and  laid  on  the  table.  They  were  covered  with  writing 
(from  his  dictation)  in  my  sister’s  hand.  “  I  ought  to  get 
on  with  my  work,”  he  said.  “Where  is  Helena?” 

I  told  him  that  she  had  gone  out,  and  begged  leave  to 
try  what  I  could  do  to  supply  her  place. 

The  request  seemed  to  please  him  ;  but  he  wanted  time 
to  think.  I  waited,  noticing  that  his  face  grew  gradually 
worried  and  anxious.  There  came  a  vacant  look  into  his 
eyes  which  it  grieved  me  to  see  ;  he  appeared  to  have 
quite  lost  himself  again.  “  Read  the  last  page,”  he  said, 
pointing  to  the  manuscript  on  the  table  ;  “  I  don’t  remem¬ 
ber  where  I  left  off.” 

I  turned  to  the  last  page.  As  well  as  I  could  tell,  it  re¬ 
lated  to  sorhe  religious  publication,  which  ‘he  was  recom¬ 
mending  to  persons  of  our  Wesleyan  persuasion. 

Before  I  had  read  half-way  through  it,  he  began  to  dic¬ 
tate,  speaking  so  rapidly  that  my  pen  was  not  always  able 
to  follow  him.  My  handwriting  is  as  bad  as  bad  can  be 
when  I  am  hurried.  To  make  matters  worse  still,  I  was 
confused.  What  he  was  now  saying  seemed  to  have  noth¬ 
ing  to  do  with  what  I  had  been  reading. 

Let  me  try  if  I  can  call  to  mind  the  substance  of  it. 

He  began  in  the  most  strangely  sudden  way  by  asking  : 
“  Why  should  there  be  any  fear  of  discovery,  when  every 
possible  care  had  been  taken  to  prevent  it?  The  danger 
from  unexpected  events  was  far  more  disquieting.  A 
man  might  find  himself  bound  in  honor  to  disclose  what 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


1 19 

it  had  been  the  chief  anxiety  of  his  life  to  conceal.  For 
example,  could  he  let  an  innocent  person  be  the  victim 
of  deliberate  suppression  of  truth — no  matter  how  justifi¬ 
able  that  suppression  might  appear  to  be  ?  On  the  other 
hand,  dreadful  consequences  might  follow  an  honorable 
confession.  There  might  be  a  cruel  sacrifice  of  tender 
affection  ;  there  might  be  a  shocking  betrayal  of  innocent 
hope  and  trust.” 

I  remember  those  last  words,  just  as  he  dictated  them, 
because  he  suddenly  stopped  there,  looking,  poor  dear, 
distressed  and  confused.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  head, 
and  went  back  to  the  sofa. 

“  I’m  tired,”  he  said.  “  Wait  for  me  while  I  rest.” 

In  a  few  minutes  he  fell  asleep.  It  was  deep  repose 
that  came  to  him  now  ;  and,  though  I  don’t  think  it  lasted 
much  longer  than  half  an  hour,  it  produced  a  wonderful 
change  in  him  for  the  better  when  he  woke.  He  spoke 
quietly  and  kindly  ;  and  when  he  returned  to  me  at  the 
table,  and  looked  at  the  page  on  which  I  had  been  writing, 
he  smiled. 

“  Oh,  my  dear,  what  bad  writing  !  T  declare  I  can’t 
read  what  I  told  you  to  write  myself.  No,  no  !  don’t  be 
down-hearted  about  it.  You  are  not  used  to  writing  from 
dictation  ;  and  I  dare  say  I  have  been  too  quick  for  you.” 
He  kissed  me  and  encouraged  me.  “You  know  how  fond 
I  am  of  my  little  girl,”  he  said  ;  “  I  am  afraid  I  like  my 
Eunice  just  the  least  in  the  world  more  than  I  like  my 
Helena.  Ah,  you  are  beginning  to  look  a  little  happier 
now  !  ” 

He  had  filled  me  with  such  confidence  and  such  pleas¬ 
ure  that  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  my  sweetheart.  Oh, 
dear,  when  shall  I  learn  to  be  distrustful  of  my  own  feel¬ 
ings  ?  The  temptation  to  say  a  good  word  for  Philip  quite  . 
mastered  any  little  discretion  that  I  possessed. 

I  said  to  papa  :  “  If  you  knew  how  to  make  me  happier 

than  I  have  ever  been,  in  all  my  life  before,  would  you 
doit?” 

“Of  course  I  would.” 

“  Then  send  for  Philip,  dear,  and  be  a  little  kinder  to 
him,  this  time.” 

His  pale  face  turned  red  with  anger  ;  he  pushed  me 
away  from  him. 

“  That  man  again  !  ”  he  burst  out.  “Am  I  never  to  hear 
the  last  of  him"?  Go  away,  Eunice.  You  are  of  no  use 
here.”  He  took  up  my  unfortunate  page  of  writing,  and 


120 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


ridiculed  it  with  a  bitter  laugh.  “  What  is  this  fit  for  ?  ” 
He  crumpled  it  up  in  his  hand,  and  tossed  it  into  the  fire. 

I  ran  out  of  the  room  in  such  a  state  of  mortification 
that  I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  about.  If  some  hard¬ 
hearted  person  had  come  to  me  with  a  cup  of  poison,  and 
had  said,  “  Eunice,  you  are  not  fit  to  live  any  longer  ; 
take  this/'  I  do  believe  I  should  have  taken  it.  If  I 
thought  of  anything,  I  thought  of  going  back  to  Selina. 
My  ill  luck  still  pursued  me  ;  she  had  disappeared.  I 
looked  about  in  a  helpless  way,  completely  at  a  loss  what 
to  do  next — so  stupefied,  I  may  even  say,  that  it  was  some 
time  before  I  noticed  a  little  three-cornered  note  on  the 
table  by  which  I  was  standing.  The  note  was  addressed 
to  me  : 

“  Ever  dearest  Eunice  :  I  have  tried  to  make  myself 
useful  to  you,  and  have  failed.  But  how  can  I  see  the  sad 
sight  of  your  wretchedness  and  not  feel  the  impulse  to 
try  again.  I  have  gone  to  the  hotel  to  find  Philip  and  to 
bring  him  back  to  you,  a  penitent  and  faithful  man.  Wait 
for  me  and  hope  for  great  things.  A  hundred  thousand 
kisses  to  my  sweet  Eunice.  S.  J.” 

Wait  for  her,  after  reading  that  note  !  How  could  she 
expect  it  ?  I  had  only  to  follow  her  and  to  find  Philip. 
In  another  minute  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  hotel. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Helena’s  diary. 

Looking  at  the  last  entry  in  my  journal,  I  see  myself 
anticipating  that  the  event  of  to-day  will  decide  Philip’s 
future  and  mine.  This  has  proved  prophetic.  All  further 
concealment  is  now  at  an  end. 

Forced  to  it  by  fate,  or  helped  to  it  by  chance,  Eunice 
has  made  the  discovery  of  her  lover’s  infidelity.  “In  all 
human  probability  ”  (as  my  father  says  in  his  sermons),  we 
two  sisters  are  enemies  for  life. 

I  am  not  suspected,  as  Eunice  is,  of  making  appoint¬ 
ments  with  a  sweetheart.  So  I  am  free  to  go  out  alone 
and  to  go  where  I  please.  Philip  and  I  were  punctual  to 
our  appointment  this  afternoon. 

Our  place  of  meeting  was  in  a  secluded  corner  of  the 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


121 


town  park.  We  found  a  rustic  seat  in  our  retirement,  set 
up  (one  would  suppose)  as  a  concession  to  the  taste  of 
visitors  who  are  fond  of  solitude.  The  view  in  front  of  us 
was  bounded  by  the  park  walls  and  railings  ;  and  our  seat 
was  prettily  approached  on  one  side  by  a  plantation  of 
young  trees.  No  entrance  gate  was  near  ;  no  carriage 
road  crossed  the  grass.  A  more  safe  and  more  solitary 
nook  for  conversation  between  two  persons  desiring  to  be 
alone,  it  would  be  hard  to  find  in  most  public  parks. 
Lovers  are  said  to  know  it  well,  and  to  be  especially  fond 
of  it  toward  evening.  We  were  there  in  broad  daylight, 
and  we  had  the  seat  to  ourselves. 

My  memory  of  what  passed  between  us  is,  in  some  de¬ 
gree,  disturbed  by  the  formidable  interruption  which 
brought  our  talk  to  an  end. 

But  among  other  things  I  remember  that  I  showed  him 
no  mercy  at  the  outset.  At  one  time  I  was  indignant  ;  at 
another  I  was  scornful.  I  declared,  in  regard  to  my  ob¬ 
ject  in  meeting  him,  that  I  had  changed  my  mind,  and  had 
decided  to  shorten  a  disagreeable  interview  by  waiving  my 
right  to  an  explanation,  and  bidding  him  farewell.  Eu¬ 
nice,  as  I  pointed  out,  had  the  first  claim  to  him  ;  Eunice 
was  much  more  likely  to  suit  him,  as  a  companion  for 
life,  than  I  was.  “  In  short,”  I  said,  in  conclusion,  “  my 
inclination  for  once  takes  sides  with  my  duty,  and  leaves 
my  sister  in  undisturbed  possession  of  young  Mr.  Dun- 
boyne.”  With  this  satirical  explanation,  I  rose  to  say 
good-by. 

I  had  merely  intended  to  irritate  him.  He  showed  a 
superiority  to  anger  for  which  I  was  not  prepared. 

“  Be  so  kind  as  to  sit  down  again,”  he  said,  quietly. 

He  took  my  letter  from  his  pocket  and  pointed  to  that 
part  of  it  which  alluded  to  his  conduct,  when  we  had  met 
in  my  father’s  study. 

“You  have  offered  me  the  opportunity  of  saying  a  word 
in  my  own  defence,”  he  went  on.  “  I  prize  that  privilege 
far  too  highly  to  consent  to  your  withdrawing  it,  merely 
because  you  have  changed  your  mind.  Let  me  at  least 
tell  you  what  my  errand  wa;s,  when  I  called  on  your  father. 
Loving  you  and  you  only,  I  had  forced  myself  to  make  a 
last  effort  to  be  true  to  your  sister.  Remember  that, 
Helena,  and  then  say — is  it  wonderful  if  I  was  beside  my¬ 
self  when  I  found  you  in  the  study  ?  ” 

“When  you  tell  me  you  were  beside  yourself,”  I  said, 
“  do  you  mean  ashamed  of  yourself?” 


122 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


That  touched  him.  “  I  mean  nothing  of  the  kind,”  he 
burst  out.  “  After  the  hell  on  earth  I  have  been  living 
between  you  two  sisters,  a  man  hasn’t  virtue  enough  left 
in  him  to  be  ashamed.  He’s  half  mad — that’s  what  he  is. 
Look  at  my  position  !  I  had  made  up  my  mind  never  to 
see  you  again  ;  I  had  made  up  my  mind  (if  I  married  Eu¬ 
nice)  to  rid  myself  of  my  own  miserable  life  when  I  could 
endure  it  no  longer.  In  that  state  of  feeling,  when  the 
salvation  of  me  depended  on  my  speaking  to  Mr.  Grace- 
dieu  alone,  whose  was  the  first  face  I  saw  when  I  entered 
the  room  ?  •  If  I  had  dared  to  look  at  you,  or  to  speak  to 
you,  what  do  you  think  would  have  become  of  my  resolu¬ 
tion  to  sacrifice  myself  ?” 

“  What  has  become  of  it,  now  ?  ”  I  asked. 

“  Tell  me  first  if  I  am  forgiven,”  he  said — “  and  you  shall 
know.” 

“  Do  you  deserve  to  be  forgiven  ?  ” 

It  has  been  discovered  by  wiser  heads  than  mine  that 
weak  people  are  always  in  extremes.  So  far,  I  had  seen 
Philip  in  the  vain  and  violent  extreme.  He  now  shifted 
suddenly  to  the  sad  and  submissive  extreme.  When  I 
asked  him  if  he  deserved  to  be  forgiven,  he  made  the 
humblest  of  all  replies — he  sighed  and  said  nothing. 

“If  I  did  my  duty  to  my  sister,”  I  reminded  him,  “I 
should  refuse  to  forgive  you  and  send  you  back  to  Eu- 

•  y  f 

nice. 

“Your  father’s  language  and  your  father’s  conduct,”  he 
answered,  “  have  released  me  from  that  entanglement.  I 
can  never  go  back  to  Eunice.  If  you  refuse  to  forgive 
me,  neither  you  nor  she  will  see  anything  more  of  Philip 
Dunboyne  ;  I  promise  you  that.  Are  you  satisfied,  now  ?  ” 

After  holding  out  against  him  resolutely,  I  felt  myself 
beginning  to  yield.  When  a  man  has  once  taken  their 
fancy,  what  helplessly  weak  creatures  women  are  !  I  saw 
through  his  vacillating  weakness — and  yet  I  trusted  him, 
with  both  eyes  open.  My  looking-glass  is  opposite  to  me 
while  I  write.  It  shows  me  a  contemptible  Helena.  I 
lied  and  said  I  was  satisfied — to  please  him. 

“Am  I  forgiven  ?”  he  asked. 

It  is  absurd  to  put  it  on  record.  Of  course  I  forgave 
him.  What  a  good  Christian  I  am,  after  all  ! 

He  took  my  willing  hand.  “  My  lovely  darling,”  he 
said,  “  our  marriage  rests  with  you.  Whether  your  father 
approves  of  it  or  not,  say  the  word  ;  claim  me,  and  I  am 
yours  for  life.” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, 


123 


I  must  have  been  infatuated  by  his  voice  and  his  look  ; 
my  heart  must  have  been  burning  under  the  pressure  of 
his  hand  on  mine.  Was  it  my  modesty  or  my  self-control 
that  deserted  me  ;  I  let  him  take  me  in  his  arms.  Again, 
and  again,  and  again  I  kissed  him.  We  were  deaf  to  what 
we  ought  to  have  heard  ;  we  were  blind  to  what  we  ought 
to  have  seen.  Before  we  were  conscious  of  a  movement 
among  the  trees,  we  were  discovered.  My  sister  flew  at 
me  like  a  wild  animal.  Her  furious  hands  fastened  them¬ 
selves  on  my  throat.  Philip  started  to  his  feet.  When  he 
touched  her,  in  the  act  of  forcing  her  back  from  me,  Eu¬ 
nice’s  raging  strength  became  utter  weakness  in  an  in¬ 
stant.  Her  arms  fell  helpless  at  her  side* — her  head 
drooped — she  looked  at  him  in  a  silence  which  was  dread¬ 
ful,  at  such  a  moment  as  that.  He  shrank  from  the  un¬ 
endurable  reproach  in  those  tearless  eyes.  Meanly,  he 
turned  away  from  her.  Meanly,  I  followed  him.  Like 
strangers,  walking  separate  one  from  the  other,  we  left 
her  to  her  companion — the  hideous  traitress  who  was  my 
enemy  and  her  friend. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

On  reaching  the  street  which  led  to  Philip’s  hotel,  we 
spoke  to  each  other  for  the  first  time. 

“What  are  we  to  do  ?”  I  said. 

“  Leave  this  place,”  he  answered. 

“Together?”  I  asked. 

“Yes.” 

To  leave  us  (for  awhile),  after  what  had  happened, 
might  be  the  wisest  thing  which  a  man,  in  Philip’s  critical 
position,  could  do.  But  if  I  went  with  him — unprovided 
as  I  was  with  any  friend  of  my  own  sex,  whose  character 
and  presence  might  sanction  the  step  that  I  had  taken — I 
should  be  lost  beyond  redemption.  Is  any  man  that  ever 
lived  worth  that  sacrifice  ?  I  thought  of  my  father’s  house 
closed  to  me,  and  of  our  friends  ashamed  of  me.  I  have 
owned,  in  some  earlier  part  of  my  journal,  that  I  am  not 
very  patient  under  domestic  cares.  But  the  possibility  of 
Eunice  being  appointed  housekeeper,  with  my  power,  in 
my  place,  was  more  than  I  could  calmly  contemplate. 
“No,”  I  said  to  Philip,  “come  what  may  of  it,  I  must  re¬ 
main  at  home.” 


124 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIH. 


He  yielded,  without  an  attempt  to  make  me  alter  my 

mind.  There  was  a  sullen  submission  in  his  manner 
which  it  was  not  pleasant  to  see.  Was  he  despairing  al¬ 
ready  of  himself  and  of  me  ?  Had  Eunice  aroused  the 
watchful  demons  of  shame  and  remorse  ? 

“  Perhaps  you  are  right,”  he  said,  gloomily.  “  Good- 
by.” 

My  anxiety  put  the  all-important  question  to  him  with¬ 
out  hesitation. 

“  Is  it  good-by  for  ever,  Philip  T" 

His  reply  instantly  relieved  me  :  “  God  forbid!” 

But  I  wanted  more  :  “You  still  love  me  ?”  I  persisted. 

“  More  dearly  than  ever  !  ” 

“And  yet  you  leave  me  ?  ” 

He  turned  pale.  “  I  leave  you,  because  I  am  afraid.” 

“  Afraid  of  what  ?  ” 

“Afraid  to  face  Eunice  again.” 

The  only  possible  way  out  of  our  difficulty  that  I  could 
see,  now  occurred  to  me.  “Suppose  my  sister  can  be  pre¬ 
vailed  on  to  give  you  up?”  I  suggested.  “Would  you 
come  back  to  us  in  that  case  ?” 

“  Certainly  !  ” 

“  And  you  would  ask  my  father  to  consent  to  our  mar- 

•  yp 

nage  ? 

“  On  the  day  of  my  return,  if  you  like.” 

“Suppose  obstacles  get  in  our  way,”  I  said — “suppose 
time  passes  and  tries  your  patience — will  you  still  consider 
yourself  engaged  to  me  ?  ” 

“  Engaged  to  you,”  he  answered,  “  in  spite  of  obstacles 
and  in  spite  of  time.” 

“  And,  while  you  are  away  from  me,”  I  ventured  to  add, 
“  we  shall  write  to  each  other  ?  ” 

“  Go  where  I  may,”  he  said,  “  you  shall  always  hear 
from  me.” 

I  could  ask  no  more  ;  and  he  could  concede  no  more. 
The  impression  evidently  left  on  him  by  Eunice’s  terrible 
outbreak,  was  far  more  serious  than  I  had  anticipated.  I 
was  myself  depressed  and  ill  at  ease.  No  expressions 
of  tenderness  were  exchanged  between  us.  There  was 
something  horrible  in  our  barren  farewell.  We  merely 
clasped  hands,  at  parting.  He  went  his  way — and  I  went 

mine. 

lhere  are  some  occasions  when  women  set  an  example 
of  courage  to  men.  I  was  ready  to  endure  whatever 
might  happen  to  me,  when  1  got  home.  What  a  desper- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


125 


ate  wretch  !  some  people  might  say,  if  they  could  look  in¬ 
to  this  diary. 

Maria  opened  the  door  ;  she  told  me  that  my  sister  had 
already  returned,  accompanied  by  Miss  Jillgall.  There 
was  probably  a  serious  quarrel  in  store  for  me.  I  went 
straight  to  the  bedroom,  expecting  to  find  Eunice  there, 
and  prepared  to  brave  the  storm  that  might  burst  on  me. 
There  was  a  woman  at  Eunice’s  end  of  the  room  (with  her 
back  turned  toward  me),  removing  dresses  from  the  ward¬ 
robe.  It  was  impossible  to  mistake  that  figure — Miss  Jill- 
gail. 

She  laid  the  dresses  on  Eunice’s  bed  without  taking  the 
slightest  notice  of  me.  In  significant  silence  I  pointed  to 
the  door.  She  went  on  as  coolly  with  her  occupation  as 
if  the  room  had  been,  not  mine,  but  hers  ;  I  stepped  up  to 
her  and  spoke  plainly  : 

“  You  oblige  me  to  remind  you,”  I  said,  “that  you  are 
not  in  your  own  room.”  There  I  waited  a  little  and  found 
I  had  produced  no  effect.  “  With  every  disposition,”  I  re¬ 
sumed,  “to  make  allowance  for  the  disagreeable  peculiari¬ 
ties  of  your  character,  I  cannot  consent  to  overlook  an  act 
of  intrusion  committed  by  a  spy.  Now,  do  you  understand 
me  ?  ” 

She  looked  around  her.  “  I  see  no  third  person  here,” 
she  said.  “  May  I  ask  if  you  mean  me  ?  ” 

“  I  mean  you.” 

“Will  you  be  so  good,  Miss  Helena,  as  to  explain  vour- 
self  ?  ” 

Moderation  of  language  would  have  been  thrown  away 
on  this  woman.  “You  followed  me  to  the  park,”  I  said. 
“  It  was  you  who  found  me  with  Mr.  Dunboyne  and  be¬ 
trayed  me  to  my  sister.  You  are  a  spy,  and  you  know  it. 
At  this  very  moment  you  daren’t  look  me  in  the  face.” 

Her  insolence  forced  its  way  out  of  her  at  last.  Let  me 
record  it — and  repay  it,  when  the  time  comes. 

“  Quite  true,”  she  replied.  “  If  I  venture  to  look  you  in 
the  face,  I  am  afraid  I  might  forget  myself.  I  have  always 
been  brought  up  like  a  lady,  and  l  wish  to  show  it  even  in 
the  company  of  such  a  wretch  as  you  are.  There  is  not 
one  word  of  truth  in  what  you  have  said  to  me.  I  went 
to  the  hotel  to  find  Mr.  Dunboyne.  Ah,  you  may  sneer  ! 
I  haven’t  got  your  good  looks— and  a  vile  use  you  have 
made  of  them.  My  object  was  to  recall  that  base  young 
man  to  his  duty  to  my  dear,  charming,  injured  Eunice. 
The  hotel  servant  told  me  that  Mr.  Dunboyne  had  gone 


126 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALM 


out.  Oh,  I  had  the  means  of  persuasion  in  my  pocket ! 
The  man  directed  me  to  the  park,  as  he  had  already  di¬ 
rected  Mr.  Dunbovne.  It  was  only  when  I  had  found  the 
place,  that  I  heard  someone  behind  me.  Poor  innocent 
Eunice  had  followed  me  to  the  hotel,  and  had  got  her  di¬ 
rections,  as  I  had  got  mine.  God  knows  how  hard  I  tried 
to  persuade  her  to  go  back,  and  how  horribly  frightened  I 
was.  No  !  I  won’t  distress  myself  by  saying  a  word  more. 
It  would  be  too  humiliating  to  let  you  see  an  honest  woman 
in  tears.  Your  sister  has  a  spirit  of  her  own,  thank  God  ! 
She  won’t  inhabit  the  same  room  with  you  ;  she  never  de¬ 
sires  to  see  your  false  face  again.  I  take  the  poor  soul’s 
dresses  and  things  away — and  as  a  religious  person  I  wait, 
confidently  wait,  for  the  judgment  that  will  fall  on  you  !” 

She  caught  up  the  dresses  all  together  ;  some  of  them 
were  in  her  arms,  some  of  them  fell  on  her  shoulders,  and 
one  of  them  towered  over  her  head.  Smothered  in  gowns, 
she  bounced  out  of  the  room  like  a  walking  milliner’s  shop. 
I  have  to  thank  the  wretched  old  creature  for  a  moment 
of  genuine  amusement,  at  a  time  of  devouring  anxiety. 
The  meanest  insect,  they  say,  has  its  use  in  this  world — 
and  why  not  Miss  Jillgall  ? 

In  half  an  hour  more  an  unexpected  event  raised  my 
spirits.  I  heard  from  Philip. 

On  his  return  to  the  hotel  he  had  found  a  telegram 
waiting  for  him.  Mr.  Dunboyne  the  elder  had  arrived  in 
London  ;  and  Philip  had  arranged  to  join  his  father  by 
the  next  train.  Pie  sent  me  the  address,  and  begged  that 
I  would  wTrite  and  tell  him  my  news  from  home  by  the 
next  day’s  post. 

Welcome,  thrice  welcome  to  Mr.  Dunboyne  the  elder! 
If  Philip  can  manage,  under  my  advice,  to  place  me 
favorably  in  the  estimation  of  this  rich  old  man,  his  pres¬ 
ence  and  authority  may  do  for  us  what  we  cannot  do  for 
ourselves.  Here  is  surely  an  influence  to  which  my  fa¬ 
ther  must  submit,  no  matter  how  unreasonable  or  how  an¬ 
gry  he  may  be  when  he  hears  what  has  happened.  I  be¬ 
gin  already  to  feel  hopeful  of  the  future. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


127 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Eunice’s  diary. 

Through  the  day,  and  through  the  night,  I  feel  a  misery 
that  never  leaves  me — I  mean  the  misery  of  fear. 

I  am  trying  to  find  out  some  harmless  means  of  employ¬ 
ing  myself,  which  will  keep  evil  remembrances  from  me. 
If  I  don’t  succeed,  my  fears  tell  me  what  will  happen.  I 
shall  be  in  danger  of  going  mad. 

I  dare  not  confide  in  any  living  creature.  I  don’t  know 
what  other  persons  might  think  of  me,  or  how  soon  I 
might  find  myself  perhaps  in  an  asylum.  In  this  helpless 
condition,  doubt  and  fright  seem  to  be  driving  me  back 
to  my  journal.  I  wonder  whether  I  shall  find  harmless 
employment  here. 

I  have  heard  of  old  people  losing  their  memories. 
What  w'ould  I  not  give  to  be  old  !  I  remember,  oh,  how 
I  remember  !  One  day  after  another  I  see  Philip,  I  see 
Helena,  as  I  first  saw  them  when  I  was  among  the  trees 
in  the  park.  My  sweetheart’s  arms,  that  once  held  me, 
hold  my  sister  now.  She  kisses  him,  kisses  him,  kisses 
him. 

Is  there  no  way  of  making  myself  ,  see  something  else  ? 
I  want  to  get  back  to  remembrances  that  do  not  burn  in 
my  head,  and  tear  at  my  heart.  How  is  this  to  be  done  ? 

I  have  tried  books — no  !  I  have  tried  going  out  to  look 
at  the  shops — no  !  I  have  tried  saying  my  prayers— no  ! 
And  now  I  am  making  my  last  effort — trying  my  pen. 
My  black  letters  fall  from  it  and  take  their  places  on  the 
white  paper.  Will  my  black  letters  help  me  ?  Where  can 
I  find  something  consoling  to  write  down  ?  Where  ? 
Where  ? 

Selina — poor  Selina,  so  fond  of  me,  so  sorry  for  me. 
When  I  was  happy  she  was  happy,  too.  It  was  always 
amusing  to  hear  her  talk.  Oh,  my  memory,  be  good  to 
me  !  Save  me  from  Philip  and  Helena.  I  want  to  re¬ 
member  the  pleasant  days  when  my  little  friend  and, I 
used  to  gossip  in  the  garden. 

No  ;  the  days  in  the  garden  won’t  come  back.  What 
else  can  I  think  of? 


128 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


The  recollections  that  I  try  to  encourage  keep  away 
from  me.  The  other  recollections  that  I  dread,  come 
crowding  back.  Still  Philip  !  Still  Helena  ! 

But  Selina  mixes  herself  up  with  them.  Let  me  try  if 
I  can  think  of  Selina. 

How  delightfully  good  to  me  and  patient  with  me  she 
was,  on  our  dismal  way  home  from  the  park  !  And  how 
affectionately  she  excused  herself  for  not  having  warned 
me  of  it,  when  she  first  suspected  that  my  own  sister  and 
my  worst  enemy  were  one  and  the  same. 

“  I  know  I  was  wrong,  my  dear,  to  let  my  love  and  pity 
close  my  lips.  But  remember  how  happy  you  were  at  the 
time.  The  thought  of  making  you  miserable  was  more 
than  I  could  endure — I  am  so  fond  of  you  !  Yes,  I  began 
to  suspect  them,  on  the  day  when  they  first  met  at  the  sta¬ 
tion.  And,  I  am  afraid,  I  thought  it  just  likely  that  you 
might  be  as  cunning  as  I  was,  and  have  noticed  them, 
too.” 

Oh,  how  ignorant  she  must  have  been  of  my  true 
thoughts  and  feelings  !  How  strangely  people  seem  to 
misunderstand  their  dearest  friends!  Knowing,  as  I  did, 
that  I  could  never  love  any  man  but  Philip,  could  I  be 
wicked  enough  to  suppose  that  Philip  would  love  any 
woman  but  me  ? 

I  explained  to  Selina  how  he  had  spoken  to  me,  when 
we  were  walking  together  on  the  bank  of  the  river.  Shall 
I  ever  forget  those  exquisite  words  ?  “I  wish  I  was  a  bet¬ 
ter  man,  Eunice  ;  I  wish  I  was  good  enough  to  be  worthy 
of  you.”  I  asked  Selina  if  she  thought  he  was  deceiving 
me  when  he  said  that.  She  comforted  me  by  owning  that 
he  must  have  been  in  earnest,  at  the  time — and  then  she 
distressed  me  by  giving  the  reason  why. 

“  My  love,  you  must  have  innocently  said  something  to 
him  when  you  and  he  were  alone,  which  touched  his  con¬ 
science  (when  he  had  a  conscience),  and  made  him  ashamed 
of  himself.  Ah,  you  were  too  fond  of  him  to  see  how  he 
changed  for  the  worse,  when  your  vile  sister  joined  you 
and  took  possession  of  him  again  !  It  made  my  heart  ache 
to  see  you  so  unsuspicious  of  them.  You  asked  me,  my 
poor  dear,  if  they  had  quarrelled — you  believed  they  were 
tired  of  walking  by  the  river,  when  it  was  you  they  were 
tired  of — and  you  wondered  why  Helena  took  him  to  see 
the  school.  My  child  !  she  was  the  leading  spirit  at  the 
school,  and  you  were  nobody.  Her  vanity  saw  the  chance 
of  making  him  compare  you  at  a  disadvantage  with  your 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


129 


clever  sister.  I  declare,  Eunice,  I  lose  my  head  if  I  only 
think  of  it !  All  the  strong  points  in  my  character  seem 
to  slip  away  from  me.  Would  you  believe  it  ? — I  have  ne¬ 
glected  that  sweet  infant  at  the  cottage  ;  I  have  even  let 
Mrs.  Molly  have  her  child  back  again.  If  I  had  the  mak¬ 
ing  of  the  laws,  Philip  Dunboyne  and  Helena  Gracedieu 
should  be  hanged  together  on  the  same  gallows.  I  see  I 
shock  you.  Don’t  let  us  talk  of  it.  Oh,  don’t  let  us  talk 
of  it!” 

And  here  I  am  writing  of  it !  What  I  had  determined 
not  to  do,  is  what  I  have  done.  Am  I  losing  my  senses 
already  ?  The  very  names  that  I  was  most  anxious  to 
keep  from  my  memory  stare  me  in  the  face  in  the  lines  I 
have  just  written.  Philip  again  !  Helena  again  ! 


Another  day  ;  and  something  new  that  must  and  will  be 
remembered,  shrink  from  it  as  I  may.  This  afternoon  I 
met  Helena  on  the  stairs. 

She  stopped,  and  eyed  me  with  a  wicked  smile  ;  she  held 
out  her  hand.  “We  are  likely  to  meet  often,  while  we 
are  in  the  same  house,”  she  said  ;  “  hadn’t  we  better  con¬ 
sult  appearances  and  pretend  to  be  as  fond  of  each  other 
as  ever  ?  ” 

I  took  no  notice  of  her  hand  ;  I  took  no  notice  of  her 
shameless  proposal.  She  tried  again  :  “  After  all,  it  isn’t 
my  fault  if  Philip  likes  me  better  than  he  likes  you.  Do 
you  see  that?”  I  still  refused  to  speak  to  her.  She  still 
persisted.  “  How  black  you  look,  Eunice  !  Are  you 
sorry  you  didn’t  kill  me  when  you  had  your  hands  on  my 
throat  ?  ” 

I  said  :  “  Yes.” 

She  laughed,  and  left  me.  I  was  obliged  to  sit  down  on 
the  stairs — I  trembled  so.  My  own  reply  frightened  me. 
I  tried  to  find  out  why  I  had  said  yes.  I  don’t  remember 
being  conscious  of  meaning  anything.  It  was  as  if  some¬ 
body  else  had  said  yes — not  I.  Perhaps  I  was  provoked, 
and  the  word  escaped  me  before  I  could  stop  it.  Could  I 
have  stopped  it  ?  I  don’t  know. 

.  .  .  .  •  ♦  •  •  • 

Another  sleepless  night. 

Did  I  pass  the  miserable  hours  in  writing  letters  to 
Philip,  and  then  tearing  them  up  ?  Or  did  I  only  dream 
that  I  wrote  to  him  ?  I  have  just  looked  at  the  fireplace. 

8 


I3° 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


The  torn  paper  in  it  tells  me  that  I  did  write.  Why  did  I 
destroy  my  letters  ?  I  might  have  sent  one  of  them  to 
Philip.  After  what  has  happened  ?  Oh,  no  !  no  ! 

Having  been  many  days  away  from  the  girls’  Scripture 
class,  it  seemed  to  be  possible  that  going  back  to  the 
school  and  the  teaching  might  help  me  to  escape  from  my¬ 
self. 

Nothing  succeeds  with  me.  I  found  it  impossible  to 
instruct  the  girls  as  usual ;  their  stupidity  almost  suffocated 
me  with  rage.  One  of  them,  a  great  fat,  feeble  creature, 
began  to  cry  when  I  scolded  her.  I  looked  with  envy  at 
the  tears  rolling  over  her  big  round  cheeks.  If  I  could 
only  cry,  I  might  perhaps  bear  my  hard  fate  with  submis¬ 
sion. 

I  walked  toward  home  by  a  roundabout  way,  feeling  as 
if  want  of  sleep  was  killing  me  by  inches. 

In  the  High  Street  I  saw  Helena  ;  she  was  posting  a 
letter,  and  was  not  aware  that  I  was  near  her.  Leaving 
the  post-office,  she  crossed  the  street,  and  narrowly  escaped 
being  run  over.  Suppose  the  threatened  accident  had 
really  taken  place — how  should  I  have  felt  if  it  had  ended 
fatally?  What  a  fool  I  am  to  be  putting  questions  to  my¬ 
self  about  things  that  have  not  happened. 

The  walking  tired  me  ;  I  went  straight  home. 

Before  I  could  ring  the  bell,  the  house  door  opened,  and 
the  doctor  came  out.  He  stopped  to  speak  to  me. 
While  I  had  been  away,  he  said,  something  had  happened 
at  home  (he  neither  knew  nor  wished  to  know  what)  which 
had  thrown  my  father  into  a  state  of  violent  agitation.  The 
doctor  had  administered  composing  medicine.  “  My  pa¬ 
tient  is  asleep  now,”  he  told  me  ;  “  but  remember  what  I 
said  to  you  the  last  time  we  met  ;  a  longer  rest  than  any 
doctor’s  prescription  can  give  him  is  what  he  wants.  You 
are  not  looking  well  yourself,  my  dear.  What  is  the 
matter  ?” 

I  told  him  of  my  wretched  restless  nights,  and  asked  if 
I  might  take  some  of  the  composing  medicine  which  he 
had  given  to  my  father.  He  forbade  me  to  touch  a  drop 
of  it.  “What  is  physic  for  your  father,  you  foolish  child 
is  not  physic  for  you,”  he  said.  “Count  a  thousand,  if 
you  can’t  sleep  to-night,  or  turn  your  pillow.  I  wish  you 
pleasant  dreams.”  He  went  away,  amused  at  his  own 
humor. 

I  found  Selina  waiting  to  speak  with  me  on  the  subject 
of  poor  papa. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAW. 


x3r 

She  had  been  startled  by  hearing  his  voice,  loud  in  an¬ 
ger.  In  the  fear  that  something  serious  had  happened, 
she  left  her  room  to  make  inquiries,  and  saw  Helena,  on 
the  landing  of  the  flight  of  stairs  beneath,  leaving  the 
study.  After  waiting  till  my  sister  was  out  of  the  way, 
Selina  ventured  to  present  herself  at  the  study  door,  and 
to  ask  if  she  could  be  of  any  use.  My  father,  walking  ex¬ 
citedly  up  and  down  the  room,  declared  that  both  his 
daughters  had  behaved  infamously,  and  that  he  would  not 
suffer  them  to  speak  to  him  again  until  they  had  come  to 
their  senses  on  the  subject  of  Mr.  Dunboyne.  He  would 
enter  into  no  further  explanation,  and  he  had  ordered, 
rather  than  requested,  Selina  to  leave  him.  Having  obeyed, 
she  tried  next  to  find  me,  and  had  just  looked  into  the 
dining-room  to  see  if  I  was  there  when  she  was  frightened 
by  the  sound  of  a  fall  in  the  room  above — that  is  to  say,  in 
the  study.  Running  up-stairs  again,  she  had  found  him 
insensible  on  the  floor,  and  had  sent  for  the  doctor. 

“And  mind  this,”  Selina  continued,  “the  person  who 
has  done  the  mischief  is  the  person  whom  I  saw  leaving 
the  study.  What  your  unnatural  sister  said  to  provoke 
her  father - ” 

“  That  your  unnatural  sister  will  tell  you  herself,”  He¬ 
lena’s  voice  added.  She  had  opened  the  door,  while  we 
were  too  much  absorbed  in  our  talk  to  hear  her. 

Selina  attempted  to  leave  the  room.  I  caught  her  by 
the  hand  and  held  her  back.  I  was  afraid  of  what' I  might 
do  if  she  left  me  by  myself.  Never  have  I  felt  anything 
like  the  rage  that  tortured  me  when  I  saw  Helena  looking 
at  us  with  the  same  wicked  smile  on  her  lips  that  had  in¬ 
sulted  me  when  we  met  on  the  stairs.  “  Have  we  anything 
to  be  ashamed  of  ?  ”  I  said  to  Selina.  “  Stay  where  you 
are.” 

“You  may  be  of  some  use,  Miss  Jillgall,  if  you  stay,” 
my  sister  suggested.  “  Eunice  seems  to  be  trembling.  Is 
she  angry,  or  is  she  ill  ?” 

The  sting  of  this  was  in  the  tone  of  her  voice.  It  was 
the  hardest  thing  I  ever  had  to  do  in  my  life — but  I  did 
succeed  in  controlling  myself. 

“Go  on  with  what  you  have  to  say,”  I  answered,  “and 
don’t  notice  me.” 

“  You  are  not  very  polite,  my  dear,  but  I  can  make  al¬ 
lowances.  Oh  !  come,  come  !  putting  up  your  hands  to 
stop  your  ears  is  too  childish.  You  would  do  better  to  ex¬ 
press  regret  for  having  misled  your  father.  Yes  !  you  did 


i32 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


mislead  him.  Only  a  few  days  since  you  left  him  to  sup¬ 
pose  that  you  were  engaged  to  Philip.  It  became  my 
duty,  after  that,  to  open  his  eyes  to  the  truth  ;  and  if  I 
unhappily  provoked  him,  it  was  your  fault.  I  was 
strictly  careful  in  the  language  I  used.  I  said  :  ‘  Dear 
father,  you  have  been  misinformed  on  a  very  serious  sub¬ 
ject.  The  only  marriage  engagement  for  which  your  kind 
sanction  is  requested  is  my  engagement.  I  have  con¬ 
sented  to  become  Mrs.  Philip  Dunboyne.”’ 

“  Stop  !  ”  I  said. 

“  Why  am  I  to  stop  ?  ” 

“  Because  I  have  something  to  say.  You  and  I  are 
looking  at  each  other.  Does  my  face  tell  you  what  is  pass¬ 
ing  in  my  mind  ?  ” 

“Your  face  seems  to  be  paler  than  usual,”  she  answered 
— “  that’s  all.” 

“No,”  I  said,  “that  is  not  all.  The  devil  that  possessed 
me  when  I  discovered  you  with  Philip,  is  not  cast  out  of 
me  yet.  Silence  the  sneering  devil  that  is  in  you,  or  we 
may  both  live  to  regret  it.” 

Whether  I  did  or  did  not  frighten  her,  I  cannot  say  ;  no 
outward  sign  betrayed  her.  This  only  I  know — she  turned 
away  silently  to  the  door,  and  went  out. 

I  dropped  on  the  sofa.  That  horrid  hungering  for  re¬ 
venge,  which  I  felt  for  the  first  time  when  I  knew  how 
Helena  had  wronged  me,  began  to  degrade  me  and  tempt 
me  again.  In  the  effort  to  get  away  from  this  new  evil  self 
of  mine,  I  tried  to  find  sympathy  in  Selina,  and  called  to 
her  to  come  and  sit  by  me.  She  seemed  to  be  startled 
when  I  looked  at  her,  but  she  recovered  herself,  and  came 
to  me,  and  took  my  hand. 

“I  wish  I  could  comfort  you,”  she  said,  in  her  kind, 
simple  way. 

“  Keep  my  hand  in  your  hand,”  I  told  her  ;  “  I  am 
drowning  in  dark  waters — and  I  have  nothing  to  hold  by 
but  you.” 

“  Oh,  my  darling,  don’t  talk  that  way.” 

“Good  Selina!  dear  Selina!  You  shall  talk  to  me. 
Say  something  harmless — tell  me  a  melancholy  story — try 
to  make  me  cry.” 

My  poor  little  friend  looked  sadly  bewildered. 

“I  am  more  likely  to  cry  myself,”  she  said.  “This  is 
so  heart-breaking — I  almost  wish  I  was  back  in  the  time 
before  you  came  home,  the  time  when  your  detestable 
sister  first  showed  how  she  hated  me.  I  was  happy, 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


T33 


meanly  happy,  in  the  spiteful  enjoyment  of  provoking  her. 
Oh,  Eunice,  I  shall  never  recover  my  spirits  again  !  All 
the  pity  in  the  world  would  not  be  pity  enough  for  you. 
So  hardly  treated!  so  young!  so  forlorn!  Your  father 
too  ill  to  help  you  ;  your  poor  mother - ” 

I  interrupted  her;  she  had  interested  me  in  something 
better  than  my  own  wretched  self.  I  asked  directly  if  she 
had  known  my  mother  ? 

“  My  dear  child,  I  never  even  saw  her  !  ” 

“  Has  my  father  never  spoken  to  you  about  her  ?  ” 

“  Only  once,  when  I  asked  him  how  long  she  had  been 
dead.  He  told  me  you  lost  her  while  you  were  an  infant, 
and  he  told  me  no  more.  I  was  looking  at  her  portrait  in 
the  study  only  yesterday.  I  think  it  must  be  a  bad  por¬ 
trait  ;  your  mother’s  face  disappoints  me.” 

I  had  arrived  at  the  same  conclusion  years  since.  But  I 
shrank  from  confessing  it. 

“At  any  rate,”  Selina  continued,  “you  are  not  like  her. 
Nobody  would  ever  guess  that  you  were  the  child  of  that 
lady,  with  the  long  slanting  forehead  and  the  restless  look 
in  her  eyes.” 

What  Selina  had  said  of  me  and  my  mother’s  portrait, 
other  friends  had  said.  There  was  nothing  that  I  know 
of  to  interest  me  in  hearing  it  repeated — and  yet  it  set  me 
pondering  on  the  want  of  resemblance  between  my  moth¬ 
er’s  face  and  mine,  and  wondering  (not  for  the  first  time) 
what  sort  of  a  woman  my  mother  was.  When  my  father 
speaks  of  her,  no  words  of  praise  that  he  could  utter  seem 
to  be  good  enough  for  her.  Oh,  me,  I  wish  I  was  a  little 
more  like  my  mother  !  ” 

It  began  to  get  dark  ;  Maria  brought  in  the  lamp.  The 
sudden  brightness  of  the  flame  struck  my  aching  eyes  as  if 
it  had  been  a  blow  from  a  knife.  I  was  obliged  to  hide 
my  face  in  my  handkerchief.  Compassionate  Selina  en¬ 
treated  me  to  go  to  bed.  “  Rest  your  poor  eyes,  my  child, 
and  your  weary  head — and  try  at  least  to  get  some  sleep.” 
She  found  me  very  docile  ;  I  kissed  her,  and  said  good¬ 
night.  I  had  my  own  idea. 

When  all  was  quiet  in  the  house,  I  stole  out  into  the 
passage,  and  listened  at  the  door  of  my  father’s  room. 

I  heard  his  regular  breathing  and  opened  the  door  and 
went  in.  The  composing  medicine,  of  which  I  was  in 
search,  was  not  on  the  table  by  his  bedside.  I  found  it  in 
the  cupboard — perhaps  placed  purposely  out  of  his  reach. 
They  say  that  some  physic  is  poison  if  you  take  too  much 


134 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


of  it.  The  label  on  the  bottle  told  me  what  the  dose  was. 
I  dropped  it  into  the  medicine  glass  And  swallowed  it,  and 
went  back  to  my  father. 

Very  gently,  so  as  not  to  wake  him,  I  touched  poor 
papa’s  forehead  with  my  lips.  “  I  must  have  some  of  your 
medicine,”  I  whispered  to  him  ;  “  I  want  it,  dear,  as  badly 
as  you  do.” 

Then  I  returned  to  my  own  room — and  lay  down  in  bed, 
waiting  to  be  composed. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Eunice’s  diary. 

My  restless  nights  are  passed  in  Selina’s  room. 

Her  bed  remains  near  the  window.  My  bed  has  been 
placed  opposite,  near  the  door.  Our  night  light  is  hidden 
in  a  corner,  so  that  the  faint  glow  of  it  is  all  that  we  see. 
What  trifles  these  are  to  write  about  !  But  they  mix  them¬ 
selves  up  with  what  I  am  determined  to  set  down  in  my 
journal,  and  then  to  close  the  book  for  good  and  all. 

I  had  not  disturbed  my  little  friend’s  enviable  repose, 
either  when  I  left  our  bedchamber  or  when  I  returned  to 
it.  The  night  was  quiet  and  the  stars  were  out.  Nothing 
moved  but  the  throbbing  at  my  temples.  The  lights  and 
shadow’s  in  our  half-darkened  room,  which  at  other  times 
suggest  strange  resemblances  to  my  fancy,  failed  to  disturb 
me  now.  I  was  in  a  darkness  of  my  own  making,  having 
bound  a  handkerchief,  cooled  with  water,  over  my  hot  eyes. 
There  was  nothing  to  interfere  with  the  soothing  influence 
of  the  dose  that  I  had  taken,  if  my  father’s  medicine  would 
only  help  me. 

I  began  badly.  The  clock  in  the  hall  struck  the  quarter 
past  the  hour,  the  half  past,  the  three-quarters  past,  the 
new  hour.  Time  was  awTake — and  I  was  awake  with  time. 

It  was  such  a  trial  to  my  patience  that  I  thought  of  go¬ 
ing  back  to  my  father’s  room  and  taking  a  second  dose  of 
the  medicine,  no  matter  what  the  risk  might  be.  On  at¬ 
tempting  to  get  up  I  became  aware  of  a  change  in  me. 
There  was  a  dull  sensation  in  my  limbs  which  seemed  to 
bind  them  down  on  the  bed.  It  was  the  strangest  feeling. 
My  will  said,  Get  up — and  my  heavy  limbs  said,  No. 

I  lay  quite  still,  thinking  desperate  thoughts  and  getting 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


J35 


nearer  and  nearer  to  the  end  that  I  had  been  dreading  for 
so  many  days  past.  Having  been  as  well  educated  as  most 
girls,  my  lessons  in  history  had  made  me  acquainted  with 
assassination  and  murder.  Horrors  which  I  had  recoiled 
from  reading  in  past  happy  days  nowreturned  to  my  mem¬ 
ory,  and  this  time  they  interested  instead  of  revolting  me. 
I  counted  the  three  first  ways  of  killing  as  I  happened  to 
remember  them,  in  my  books  of  instruction — a  way  by 
stabbing,  a  way  by  poison,  a  way  in  a  bed  by  suffocation 
with  a  pillow.  On  that  dreadful  night  I  never  once  called 
to  mind  what  I  find  myself  remembering  now — the  harm¬ 
less  past  time  when  our  friends  used  to  say  :  “  Eunice  is  a 
good  girl  ;  we  are  all  fond  of  Eunice.”  Shall  I  ever  be  the 
same  lovable  creature  again  ? 

While  I  lay  thinking  a  strange  thing  happened.  Philip, 
who  had  haunted  me  for  days  and  nights  together,  vanished 
out  of  my  thoughts.  My  memory  of  the  love  which  had 
begun  so  brightly  and  had  ended  so  miserably  became  a 
blank.  Nothing  was  left  but  my  own  horrid  visions  of 
vengeance  and  death. 

For  a  while  the  strokes  of  the  clock  still  reached  my  ears. 
But  it  was  an  effort  to  count  them  ;  I  ended  in  letting  them 
pass  unheeded.  Soon  afterward  the  round  of  my  thoughts 
began  to  circle  slowly  and  more  slowly.  The  strokes  of 
the  clock  died  out.  The  round  of  my  thoughts  stopped. 

Ali  this  time  my  eyes  were  still  covered  by  the  handker¬ 
chief  which  I  had  laid  over  them. 

The  darkness  began  to  weigh  on  my  spirits  and  to  fill 
me  with  distrust.  I  found  myself  suspecting  that  there 
was  some  change — perhaps  an  unearthly  change — passing 
over  the  room.  To  remain  blindfolded  any  longer  was 
more  than  I  could  endure.  I  lifted  my  hand — without  be¬ 
ing  conscious  of  the  heavy  sensation  which  some  time  be¬ 
fore  had  laid  my  limbs  helpless  on  the  bed — I  lifted  my 
hand  and  drew  the  handkerchief  away  from  my  eyes. 

The  faint  glow  of  the  night  light  was  extinguished. 

But  the  room  was  not  quite  dark.  There  was  a  ghastly 
light  trembling  over  it,  like  nothing  that  I  have  ever  seen 
by  day  ;  like  nothing  that  I  have  ever  seen  by  night.  I 
dimly  discerned  Selina’s  bed,  and  the  frame  of  the  window 
and  the  curtains  on  either  side  of  it — but  not  the  starlight 
and  not  the  shadowy  tops  of  the  trees  in  the  garden. 

The  light  grew  fainter  and  fainter  ;  the  objects  in  the  room 
faded  slowly  away.  Darkness  came. 

It  may  be  a  saying  hard  to  believe — but  when  I  declare 


136 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


that  I  was  not  frightened  I  am  telling  the  truth.  Whether 
the  room  was  lit  by  awful  light  or  sunk  in  awful  dark,  I 
was  equally  absorbed  in  the  expectation  of  what  might 
happen  next.  I  listened  calmly  for  what  I  might  hear  ;  I 
waited  calmly  for  what  I  might  feel. 

A  touch  came  first.  I  felt  it  creeping  on  my  face — like 
a  little  fluttering  breeze.  The  sensation  pleased  me  for  a 
while.  Soon  it  grew  colder,  and  colder,  and  colder,  till  it 
froze  me. 

“Oh,  no  more!”  I  cried  out.  “You  are  killing  me 
with  an  icy  death  !  ” 

The  dead-cold  touches  lingered  a  moment  longer — and 
left  me. 

The  first  sound  came. 

It  was  th'e  sound  of  a  mysterious  whisper  on  my  pillow, 
close  to  my  ear.  My  strange  insensibility  to  fear  remained 
undisturbed.  The  whisper  was  welcome  ;  it  kept  me  com¬ 
pany  in  the  dark  room. 

It  said  to  me :  “  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  ” 

I  answered  :  “No.” 

It  said  :  “  Who  have  you  been  thinking  of  this  evening  ?” 

I  answered  :  “  My  mother.” 

The  whisper  said  :  “  I  am  your  mother.” 

“  Oh,  mother,  command  the  light  to  come  back  !  Show 
yourself  to  me.” 

“  No.” 

“Why  not  ?  ” 

“  My  face  was  hidden  when  I  passed  from  life  to  death. 
My  face  no  mortal  creature  may  see.” 

“  Oh,  mother,  touch  me  !  Kiss  me  !  ” 

“No.” 

“  Why  not  ?  ” 

“  My  touch  is  poison.  My  kiss  is  death.” 

The  sense  of  fear  began  to  come  to  me  now.  I  moved 
my  head  away  on  the  pillow.  The  whisper  followed  my 
movement. 

“Leave  me,”  I  said.  “You  are  an  evil  spirit.” 

The  whisper  answered  :  “  I  am  your  mother.” 

“  You  come  to  tempt  me.” 

“  I  come  to  harden  your  heart.  Daughter  of  mine, 
whose  blood  is  cool  ;  daughter  of  mine,  who  tamely  sub¬ 
mits — you  have  loved.  Is  it  true  ?” 

“  It  is  true.” 

“A  woman  has  lured  him  away  to  herself.  A  woman 
has  had  no  mercy  on  you  or  on  him.  Is  it  true  ?” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


x37 


“  It  is  true.” 

“  If  she  lives  what  crime  toward  you  will  she  commit 
next  ? ” 

“  If  she  lives  she  will  marry  him.” 

“  Will  you  let  her  live  ?  ” 

“  Never  !  ” 

“  Have  I  hardened  vour  heart  against  her  ?” 

“  Yes.” 

“Will  you  kill  her?” 

“  Show  me  how.” 

There  was  a  sudden  silence.  I  was  still  left  in  the 
darkness,  feeling  nothing,  hearing  nothing.  Even  the 
consciousness  that  I  was  lying  on  my  bed  deserted  me.  I 
had  no  idea  that  I  was  in  the  bedroom  ;  I  had  no  knowl¬ 
edge  of  where  I  was. 

The  ghastly  light  that  I  had  seen  already  dawned  on  me 
once  more,  I  was  no  longer  in  my  bed,  no  longer  in  my 
room,  no  longer  in  the  house.  Without  wonder,  without 
even  a  feeling  of  surprise,  I  looked  round.  The  place 
was  familiar  to  me.  I  was  alone  in  the  museum  of  our 
town. 

The  light  flowed  along  in  front  of  me.  I  followed,  from 
room  to  room  in  the  museum,  where  the  light  led. 

First,  through  the  picture-gallery,  hung  with  the  works 
of  modern  masters.  Then  through  the  rooms  filled  with 
specimens  of  stuffed  animals.  The  lion  and  the  tiger,  the 
vulture  of  the  Alps  and  the  great  albatross,  looked  like 
living  creatures  threatening  me,  in  the  supernatural  light. 
I  entered  the  third  room,  devoted  to  the  exhibition  of  an¬ 
cient  armor  and  the  weapons  of  all  nations.  Here  the 
light  rose  higher,  and,  leaving  me  in  darkness  where  I 
stood,  showed  a  collection  of  swords,  daggers,  and  knives 
arranged  on  the  wall  in  imitation  of  the  form  of  a  star. 

The  whisper  sounded  again  close  at  my  ear.  It  echoed 
my  own  thought  when  I  had  called  to  mind  the  ways  of 
killing  which  history  had  taught  me.  It  said,  “Kill  her 
with  a  knife.” 

No.  My  heart  failed  me  when  I  thought  of  the  blood. 

I  hid  the  "dreadful  weapons  from  my  view.  I  cried  out : 
“  Let  me  go  !  let  me  go  !  ” 

Again  I  was  lost  in  darkness.  Again  I  had  no  knowl¬ 
edge  in  me  of  where  I  was.  Again,  after  an  interval,  the 
light  showed  me  the  new  place  in  which  I  stood. 

I  was  alone  in  the  burial  ground  of  our  parish  church. 
The  light  led  me  on,  among  the  graves,  to  the  lonely  cor- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


H8 

ner  in  which  the  great  yew-tree  stood  :  and,  rising  higher, 
revealed  the  solemn  foliage,  brightened  by  the  fatal  red 
fruit  which  hides  in  itself  the  seeds  of  death. 

The  whisper  tempted  me  again.  It  followed  again  the 
train  of  my  thought.  It  said  :  “Kill  her  by  poison.” 

No.  Revenge  by  poison  steals  its  way  to  the  end.  The 
base  deceitfulness  of  Helena’s  crime  against  me  seemed  to 
call  for  a  day  of  reckoning  that  hid  itself  under  no  disguise. 
I  raised  my  cry  to  be  delivered  from  the  sight  of  the  deadly 
tree.  The  changes  which  I  have  tried  to  describe  followed 
once  more  the  confession  of  what  I  felt ;  the  darkness  was 
dispelled  for  the  third  time. 

I  was  standing  in  Helena’s  room,  looking  at  her  as  she 
lay  asleep  in  her  bed. 

She  was  quite  still  now  ;  but  she  must  have  been  rest¬ 
less  at  some  earlier  time.  The  bedclothes  were  disordered, 
her  head  had  sunk  so  low  that  the  pillow  rose  high  and 
vacant  above  her.  There,  colored  by  a  tender  flush  of 
sleep,  was  the  face  whose  beauty  put  my  poor  face  to 
shame.  There  was  the  sister  who  had  committed  the  worst 
of  murders — the  wretch  who  had  killed  in  me  all  that  made 
life  worth  having.  While  that  thought  was  in  my  mind  I 
heard  the  whisper  again.  “  Kill  her  openly,”  the  tempting 
mother  said.  “Kill  her  daringly.  Faint  heart,  do  you 
still  want  courage  ?  Rouse  your  spirit  ;  look  !  see  your¬ 
self  in  the  act !  ” 

The  temptation  took  a  form  which  now  tried  me  for  the 
first  time. 

As  if  a  mirror  had  reflected  the  scene,  I  saw  myself  stand- 
ing  by  the  bedside  with  the  pillow  that  was  to  smother  the 
sleeper  in  my  hands.  I  heard  the  whispering  voice  telling 
me  how  to  speak  the  words  that  warned  and  condemned 
her  :  “  Wake  !  you  who  have  taken  him  from  me  !  Wake  ! 
and  meet  your  doom.” 

I  saw  her  start  up  in  the  bed.  The  sudden  movement 
disordered  the  nightdress  over  her  bosom,  and  showed  the 
miniature  portrait  of  a  man,  hung  round  her  neck. 

The  man  was  Philip.  The  likeness  was  looking  at 
me. 

So  dear,  so  lovely,  so  true,  those  eyes  that  had  once  been 
the  light  of  my  heart  mourned  for  me  and  judged  me  now. 
They  saw  the  guilty  thoughts  that  polluted  me  ;  they 
brought  me  to  my  knees,  imploring  him  to  help  me  back 
to  my  better  self  :  “  One  last  mercy,  dear,  to  comfort  me 
under  the  loss  of  you.  Let  the  love  that  was  once  my  life 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


*39 


be  my  good  angel  still.  Save  me,  Philip,  even  though  you 
forsake  me — save  me  from  myself !  ” 


•  •••••• 

There  was  a  sudden  cry. 

The  agony  of  it  pierced  my  brain — drove  away  the 
ghastly  light — silenced  the  tempting  whispers.  I  came  to 
myself.  I  saw — and  not  in  a  dream. 

Helena  had  started  up  in  her  bed.  That  cry  of  terror, 
at  the  sight  of  me  in  her  room  at  night,  had  burst  from  her 
lips.  The  miniature  of  Philip  hung  round  her  neck  a  visi¬ 
ble  reality.  Though  my  head  was  dizzy,  though  my  heart 
was  sinking,  I  had  not  lost  my  senses  yet.  All  that  the 
night  lamp  could  show  me  I  still  saw,  and  I  heard  the 
sound  faintly  when  the  door  of  the  bedchamber  was 
opened.  Alarmed  by  that  piercing  cry,  my  father  came 
hurrying  into  the  room. 

Not  a  word  passed  between  us  three.  The  whispers  that 
I  had  heard  were  wicked  ;  the  thoughts  that  had  been  in 
my  mind  were  vile.  Had  they  left  some  poison  in  the  air 
of  the  room  which  killed  the  words  on  our  lips  ? 

My  father  looked  at  Helena.  With  a  trembling  hand  she 
pointed  to  me.  He  put  his  arm  round  me  and  held  me 
up.  I  remember  his  leading  me  away — and  I  remember 
nothing  more. 

My  last  words  are  written.  I  lock  up  this  journal  of 
misery — never,  I  hope  and  pray,  to  open  it  again. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

EVENTS  IN  THE  FAMILY,  RELATED  BY  THE  GOVERNOR. 

In  the  year  1870  I  found  myself  compelled  to  submit  to 
the  demands  of  two  hard  taskmasters.  Advancing  age  and 
failing  health  reminded  the  Governor  of  the  Prison  of  his 
dutv  to  his  successor  in  one  unanswerable  word — Resign. 

Having  nothing  else  to  complain  of,  I  complained  of  my 
health  and  consulted  a  doctor.  That  sagacious  man  hit  on 
the  right  way  of  getting  rid  of  me — he  recommended  trav¬ 
elling. 

This  was  unexpected  advice.  After  some  hesitation  I 
accepted  it  reluctantly. 

The  instincts  of  age  recoil  from  making  new  acquaint- 


140 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


ances,  contemplating  new  places  and  adopting  new  habits. 
Besides,  I  hate  railway  travelling.  However,  I  contrived 
to  get  as  far  as  Italy,  and  stopped  to  rest  at  Florence. 
Here  I  found  pictures  by  the  old  masters  that  I  could 
really  enjoy,  a  public  park  that  I  could  honestly  admire,  and 
an  excellent  friend  and  colleague  of  former  days,  once 
chaplain  to  the  prison,  now  clergyman  in  charge  of  the 
English  Church.  We  met  in  the  gallery  of  the  Pitti  Palace, 
and  he  recognized  me  immediately.  I  was  pleased  to  find 
that  the  lapse  of  years  had  made  so  little  difference  in  my 
personal  appearance. 

The  traveller  who  advances  as  far  as  Florence  and  does 
not  go  on  to  Rome  must  be  regardless  indeed  of  the  opin¬ 
ions  of  his  friends.  Let  me  not  attempt  to  conceal  it — I 
am  that  insensible  traveller.  Over  and  over  again  I  said 
to  myself  :  “  Rome  must  be  done,”  and  over  and  over 
again  I  put  off  doing  it.  To  own  the  truth,  the  fascina¬ 
tions  of  Florence,  aided  by  the  society  of  my  friend,  laid 
so  strong  a  hold  on  me  that  I  believe  I  should  have  ended 
my  days  in  the  delightful  Italian  city  but  for  the  danger¬ 
ous  illness  of  one  of  my  sons.  This  misfortune  hurried  me 
back  to  England,  in  dread,  every  step  of  the  way,  of  find¬ 
ing  that  I  had  arrived  too  late.  The  journey  (thank  God) 
proved  to  have  been  taken  without  need.  My  son  was  no 
longer  in  danger  when  I  reached  London  in  the  year  1875. 

At  that  date  I  was  near  enough  to  the  customary  limit 
of  human  life  to  feel  the  necessity  of  rest  and  quiet.  In 
other  words,  my  days  of  travel  had  come  to  an  end. 

Having  established  myself  in  my  own  country,  I  did  not 
forget  to  let  old  friends  know  where  they  might  find  me. 
Among  those  to  whom  I  wrote  was  another  colleague  of 
past  years,  who  still  held  his  medical  appointment  in  the 
prison.  When  I  received  the  doctor’s  reply  it  enclosed  a 
letter  directed  to  me  at  my  old  quarters  in  the  Governor’s 
rooms.  Who  could  possibly  have  sent  a  letter  to  an  ad¬ 
dress  which  I  had  left  five  years  since  ?  Mv  correspond¬ 
ent  proved  to  be  no  less  a  person  than  the  Wesleyan  min¬ 
ister — the  friend  whom  I  had  estranged  from  me  by  the 
tone  in  which  I  had  written  to  him  on  the  long-past  occa¬ 
sion  of  his  wife’s  death. 

It  was  a  distressing  letter  to  read.  I  beg  permission  to 
give  only  the  substance  of  it  in  this  place. 

Entreating  me,  with  touching  expressions  of  humility 
and  sorrow,  to  forgive  his  long  silence,  the  writer  appealed 
to  my  friendly  remembrance  of  him.  He  was  in  sore  need 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


141 

of  counsel,  under  serious  difficulties,  and  I  was  the  only- 
person  to  whom  he  could  apply  for  help.  In  the  disordered 
state  of  his  health  at  that  time  he  ventured  to  hope  that  I 
would  visit  him  at  his  present  place  of  abode,  and  would 
let  him  have  the  happiness  of  seeing  me  as  speedily  as 
possible.  He  concluded  with  this  extraordinary  post¬ 
script  : 

“  When  you  see  my  daughters  say  nothing  to  either  of 
them  which  relates  in  any  way  to  the  subject  of  their  ages. 
You  shall  hear  why  when  we  meet.” 

The  reading  of  this  letter  naturally  reminded  me  of  the 
claims  which  my  friend’s  noble  conduct  had  established  on 
my  admiration  and  respect  at  the  past  time  when  we  met 
in  the  prison.  I  could  not  hesitate  to  grant  his  request — 
strangely  as  it  was  expressed  and  doubtful  as  the  prospect 
appeared  to  be  of  my  answering  the  expectations  which  he 
had  founded  on  the  renewal  of  our  intercourse.  Answer¬ 
ing  his  letter  by  telegraph,  I  promised  to  be  with  him  on 
the  next  day. 

On  arriving  at  the  station  I  found  that  I  was  the  only 
traveller  by  a  first-class  carriage  who  left  the  train.  A 
young  lady,  remarkable  by  her  good  looks  and  good  dress¬ 
ing,  seemed  to  have  noticed  this  trifling  circumstance. 
She  approached  me  with  a  ready  smile.  “  I  believe  I  am 
speaking  to  my  father’s  friend,”  she  said  ;  “my  name  is 
Helena  Gracedieu.” 

Here  was  one  of  the  minister’s  two  “  daughters,”  and 
that  one  of  the  two — as  I  discovered  the  moment  I  shook 
hands  with  her — who  was  my  friend’s  own  child.  Miss 
Helena  recalled  to  me  her  mother’s  face,  infinitely  improved 
by  youth  and  health  and  by  a  natural  beauty  which  that 
cruel  and  deceitful  woman  could  never  have  possessed.  The 
slanting  forehead  and  the  shifting,  flashing  eyes  that  I 
recollected  in  the  parent  were  reproduced  (slightly  repro¬ 
duced,  I  ought  to  say)  in  the  child*  As  for  the  other  feat¬ 
ures,  I  had  never  seen  a  more  beautiful  nose  and  mouth, 
or  a  more  delicately  shaped  outline  than  was  presented  by 
the  lower  part  of  the  face.  But  Miss  Helena  somehow 
failed  to  charm  me.  I  doubt  if  I  should  have  fallen  in 
love  with  her  even  in  the  days  when  I  was  a  foolish  young 
man. 

The  first  question  that  I  put,  as  we  drove  from  the  sta¬ 
tion  to  the  house,  related  naturally  to  her  father. 

“He  is  very  ill,”  she  began  ;  “I  am  afraid  you  must 
prepare  yourself  to  see  a  sad  change.  Nerves.  The  mis- 


142 


THE  LEGACY  OF  C A I iV. 


chief  first  showed  itself,  the  doctor  tells  us,  in  derangement 
of  his  nervous  system.  He  has  been,  I  regret  to  tell  you, 
obstinate  in  refusing  to  give  up  his  preaching  and  pas¬ 
toral  work.  He  ought  to  have  tried  rest  at  the  seaside. 
Things  have  gone  on  from  bad  to  worse.  Last  Sunday,  at 
the  beginning  of  his  sermon,  he  broke  down.  Very,  very 
sad,  is  it  not  ?  The  doctor  says  that  precious  time  has 
been  lost  and  he  must  make  up  his  mind  to  resign  the 
ministry.  He  won’t  hear  of  it.  You  are  his  old  friend. 
Please  try  to  persuade  him.” 

Fluently  spoken  ;  the  words  well  chosen  ;  the  melodious 
voice  reminding  me  of  the  late  Mrs.  Gracedieu’s  advan¬ 
tages  in  that  respect ;  little  sighs  judiciously  thrown  in 
here  and  there,  just  at  the  right  places  ;  everything,  let 
me  own,  that  could  present  a  dutiful  daughter  as  a  pattern 
of  propriety,  and  nothing,  let  me  add,  that  could  produce 
an  impression  on  my  insensible  temperament.  If  I  had 
not  been  too  discreet  to  rush  at  a  hasty  conclusion,  I  might 
have  been  inclined  to  say,  her  mother’s  child,  every  inch 
of  her. 

The  interest  which  I  was  still  able  to  feel  in  my  friend’s 
domestic  affairs  centred,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say,  in 
the  daughter  whom  he  had  adopted. 

In  her  infancy  I  had  seen  the  child  and  liked  her  ;  I  was 
the  one  person  living  (since  the  death  of  Mrs.  Gracedieu) 
who  knew  how  the  minister  had  concealed  the  sad  secret 
of  her  parentage,  and  I  wanted  to  discover  if  the  heredi¬ 
tary  taint  had  begun  to  show  itself  in  the  innocent  off¬ 
spring  of  the  murderess.  Just  as  I  was  considering  how  I 
might  harmlessly  speak  of  Miss  Helena’s  “  sister,”  Miss 
Helena  herself  introduced  the  subject. 

“May  I  ask,”  she  resumed,  “if  you  were  disappointed 
when  you  found  nobody  but  me  to  meet  you  at  our  sta¬ 
tion  ?  ” 

Here  was  an  opportunity  of  paying  her  a  compliment, 
if  I  had  been  a  younger  man,  or  if  she  had  produced  a 
favorable  impression  on  me.  As  it  was,  I  hit — if  I  may 
praise  myself — on  an  ingenious  compromise. 

“What  excuse  could  I  have,”  I  asked,  “  for  feeling  dis¬ 
appointed  ?  ” 

“Well,  I  hear  you  are  an  official  personage — I  ought  to 
say,  perhaps,  a  retired  official  personage.  We  might  have 
received  you  more  respectfully  if  both  my  father’s  daugh¬ 
ters  had  been  present  at  the  station.  It’s  not  my  fault  that 
my  sister  was  not  with  me.” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


143 


The  tone  in  which  she  said  this  strengthened  my  pre¬ 
judice  against  her.  It  told  me  that  the  two  girls  were 
living  together  on  no  very  friendly  terms  ;  and  it  suggest¬ 
ed — justly  or  unjustly  I  could  not  then  decide — that  Miss 
Helena  was  to  blame. 

“  Perhaps  your  sister  is  ill  ?  ”  I  said. 

“My  sister  is  away  from  home.” 

“Surely,  Miss  Helena,  that  is  a  good  reason  for  her  not 
coming  to  meet  me  ?  ” 

“  I  beg  your  pardon — it  is  a  bad  reason.  She  has  been 
sent  away  for  the  recovery  of  her  health — and  the  loss  of 
her  health  is  entirely  her  own  fault.” 

What  did  this  matter  to  me  ?  I  decided  on  dropping 
the  subject.  My  memory  reverted,  however,  to  past  oc¬ 
casions  of  which  the  loss  of  my  health  had  been  entirely 
my  own  fault.  There  was  something  in  these  personal 
recollections  which  encouraged  my  perverse  tendency  to 
sympathize  with  a  young  lady  to  whom  I  had  not  yet  been 
introduced.  The  young  lady’s  sister  appeared  to  be  dis¬ 
couraged  by  my  silence.  She  said  :  “  I  hope  you  don’t 
think  the  worse  of  me  for  what  I  have  just  mentioned  ?  ” 

“  Certainly  not.” 

“  Perhaps  you  fail  to  see  any  need  for  my  speaking  of 
my  sister  at  all  ?  Will  you  kindly  listen  if  I  try  to  explain 
myself  ?  ” 

“  With  pleasure.” 

She  slyly  set  the  best  construction  on  my  perfectly  com¬ 
monplace  reply. 

“  Thank  you,”  she  said.  “  The  fact  is,  my  father  (I  can’t 
imagine  why)  wishes  you  to  see  my  sister  as  well  as  me. 
He  has  written  to  the  farmhouse  at  which  she  is  now  stay¬ 
ing  to  tell  her  to  come  home  to-morrow.  It  is  possible — 
if  your  kindness  offers  me  an  opportunity — that  I  may 
ask  to  be  guided  by  your  experience  in  a  little  matter 
which  interests  me.  My  sister  is  rash  and  reckless,  and 
has  a  terrible  temper.  I  should  be  very  sorry  indeed  if 
you  were  induced  to  form  an  unfavorable  opinion  of  me 
from  anything  you  might  notice,  if  you  see  us  together. 
You  understand  me,  I  hope?” 

“I  quite  understand  you.” 

To  set  me  against  her  sister  in  her  own  private  inter¬ 
ests — there,  as  I  felt  sure,  was  the  motive  under  which  she 
was  acting.  As  hard  as  her  mother,  as  selfish  as  her 
mother,  and,  judging  from  those  two  bad  qualities,  prob¬ 
ably  as  cruel  as  her  mother.  That  was  how  I  understood 


144 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


Miss  Helena  Gracedieu  when  our  carriage  drew  up  at  her 
father’s  house. 

A  middle-aged  lady  was  on  the  doorstep  when  we  ar¬ 
rived,  just  ringing  the  bell.  She  looked  round  at  us  both, 
being  evidently  as  complete  a  stranger  to  my  fair  compan¬ 
ion  as  she  was  to  me.  When  the  servant  opened  the  door 
she  said  : 

“  Is  Miss  Jillgall  at  home  ?  ” 

At  the  sound  of  that  odd  name  Miss  Helena  tossed  her 
head  disdainfully.  She  took  no  sort  of  notice  of  the 
stranger  lady  who  was  at  the  door  of  her  father’s  house. 
This  young  person’s  contempt  for  Miss  Jillgall  appeared 
to  extend  to  Miss  Jillgall’s  friends. 

In  the  meantime  the  servant’s  answer  was:  “Not  at 
home.” 

The  middle-aged  lady  said :  “  Do  you  expect  her  back 
soon  ?  ” 

“Yes,  ma’am.” 

“  I  will  call  again  later  in  the  day.” 

“What  name,  if  you  please  ?” 

The  lady  stole  another  look  at  me  before  she  replied. 

“  Never  mind  the  name,”  she  said,  and  walked  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

RELATED  BY  THE  GOVERNOR. 

“Do  you  know  that  lady?”  Miss  Helena  asked,  as  we 
entered  the  house. 

“  She  is  a  perfect  stranger  to  me,”  I  answered. 

“  Are  you  sure  you  have  not  forgotten  her  ?” 

“Why  do  you  think  I  have  forgotten  her  ?” 

“Because  she  evidently  remembered  you.” 

The  lady  had  no  doubt  looked  at  me  twice.  If  this 
meant  that  my  face  was  familiar  to  her,  I  could  only  repeat 
what  I  had  already  said.  Never,  to  my  knowledge  had  I 
seen  her  before. 

Leading  the  way  up-stairs,  Miss  Helena  apologized  for 
taking  me  into  her  father’s  bedroom.  “  He  is  able  to  sit 
up  in  an  armchair,”  she  said  ;  “  and  he  might  do  more,  as  I 
think,  if  he  would  exert  himself.  He  won’t  exert  himself. 
Very  sad.  Would  you  like  to  look  at  your  room,  before  you 
see  my  father  ?  It  is  quite  ready  for  you.  We  hope  ” — 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


x45 


she  favored  me  with  a  fascinating  smile,  devoted  to  win¬ 
ning  my  heart  when  her  interests  required  it — “we  hope 
you  will  pay  us  a  long  visit  ;  we  look  on  you  as  one  of 
ourselves.” 

I  thanked  her,  and  said  I  would  shake  hands  with  my  old 
friend  before  I  went  to  my  room. 

It  is  out  of  my  power  to  describe  the  shock  that  over¬ 
powered  me  when  I  first  saw  the  minister  again,  after  the 
long  interval  of  time  that  had  separated  us.  Nothing 
that  his  daughter  said,  nothing  that  I  myself  anticipated, 
had  prepared  me  for  that  lamentable  change.  For  the 
moment  I  was  not  sufficiently  master  of  myself  to  be  able 
to  speak  to  him.  He  added  to  my  embarrassment  by  the 
humility  of  his  manner,  and  the  formal  elaboration  of  his 
apologies.  * 

“I  feel  painfully  that  I  have  taken  a  liberty  with  you,” 
he  said,  “  after  the  long  estrangement  between  us — for 
which  my  want  of  Christian  forbearance  is  to  blame.  For¬ 
give  it,  sir,  and  forget  it.  I  hope  to  show  that  necessity 
justifies  my  presumption  in  subjecting  you  to  a  wearisome 
journey  for  my  sake.” 

Beginning  to  recover  myself  I  begged  that  he  would 
make  no  more  excuses.  My  interruption  seemed  to  con¬ 
fuse  him. 

“I  wished  to  say,”  he  went  on,  “that  you  are  the  one 
man  who  can  understand  me.  There  is  my  only  reason 
for  asking  to  see  you,  and  looking  forward  as  I  do  to  your 
advice.  You  remember  the  night — or  was  it  the  day  ? — 
before  that  miserable  woman  was  hanged  ?  You  were  the 
only  person  present  when  I  agreed  to  adopt  the  poor  little 
creature,  stained  already  (one  may  say)  by  its  mother’s 
infamy.  I  think  your  wisdom  foresaw  what  a  terrible 
responsibility  I  was  undertaking  ;  you  tried  to  prevent  it. 
Well !  well  !  you  have  been  in  my  confidence — you  only. 
Mind  !  nobody  in  this  house  knows  that  one  of  the  two 
girls  -is  not  really  my  daughter.  Pray  stop  me,  if  you  find 
me  wandering  from  the  point.  My  wish  is  to  show  that 
you  are  the  only  man  I  can  open  my  heart  to.  She — ” 
He  paused,  as  if  in  search  of  a  lost  idea,  and  left  the  sen¬ 
tence  uncompleted.  “Yes,”  he  went  on,  “I  was  thinking 
of  my  adopted  child.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  I  baptized 
her  myself  ?  and  by  a  good  Scripture  name  too — Eunice. 
Ah,  sir,  that  little  helpless  baby  is  a  grown-up  girl  now  ;  of 
an  age  to  inspire  love  and  to  feel  love.  I  blush  to  ac¬ 
knowledge  it  ;  I  ha,ve  behaved  with  a  want  of  self-control, 


146 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


with  a  cowardly  weakness —  No!  I  am,  indeed,  wander¬ 
ing  this  time.  I  ought  to  have  told  you  first  that  I  have 
been  brought  face  to  face  with  the  possibility  of  Eunice’s 
marriage.  And,  to  make  it  worse  still,  I  can’t  help  liking 
the  young  man.  He  comes  of  a  good  family — excellent 
manners,  highly  educated,  plenty  of  money,  a  gentleman  in 
every  sense  of  the  word.  And  poor  little  Eunice  is  so 
fond  of  him  !  Isn’t  it  dreadful  to  be  obliged  to  stop  her 
dearly  loved  Philip — the  young  gentleman’s  name  is 
Philip.  Do  you  like  the  name  ?  I  say  I  am  obliged  to  stop 
her  sweetheart  in  the  rudest  manner,  when  all  he  wants  to 
do  is  to  ask  me  modestly  for  my  sweet  Eunice’s  hand.  Oh, 
what  have  I  not  suffered,  without  a  word  of  sympathy  to 
comfort  me,  before  I  had  courage  enough  to  write  to  you ! 
Shall  I  make  a  dreadful  confession  ?  If  my  religious  con¬ 
victions  had  not  stood  in  my  way,  I  believe  I  should  have 
committed  suicide.  Put  yourself  in  my  place.  Try  to  see 
yourself  shrinking  from  a  necessary  explanation  when  the 
happiness  of  a  harmless  girl — so  dutiful,  so  affectionate — 
depended  on  a  word  of  kindness  from  your  lips.  And 
that  word  you  are  afraid  to  speak  !  Don’t  take  offence, 
sir  ;  I  mean  myself,  not  you.  Why  don’t  you  say  some¬ 
thing  ?”  he  burst  out  fiercely,  incapable  of  perceiving  that 
lie  had  allowed  me  no  opportunity  of  speaking  to  him. 
“  Good  God  !  don’t  you  understand  me,  after  all  ?  ” 

The  signs  of  mental  confusion  in  his  talk  had  so  dis¬ 
tressed  me  that  I  had  not  been  composed  enough  to  feel 
sure  of  what  he  really  meant,  until  he  described  himself 
as  “  shrinking  from  a  necessary  explanation.”  Hearing 
those  words,  my  knowledge  of  the  circumstances  helped 
me  ;  I  realized  what  his  situation  really  was. 

“  Compose  yourself,”  I  said,  “  I  understand  you  at  last.” 

He  had  suddenly  become  distrustful.  “  Prove  it,”  he 
muttered,  with  a  furtive  look  at  me.  “  I  want  to  be  sat¬ 
isfied  that  you  understand  my  position.” 

“This  is  your  position,”  I  told  him.  “You  are  placed 
between  two  deplorable  alternatives.  If  you  tell  this 
young  gentleman  that  Miss  Eunice’s  mother  was  a  crim¬ 
inal,  hanged  for  murder,  his  family — even  if  he  himself 
does  not  recoil  from  it — will  unquestionably  forbid  the 
marriage,  and  your  adopted  daughter’s  happiness  will  be 
the  sacrifice.” 

“True  !”  he  said.  “  Frightfully  true  !  Go  on.” 

“  If,  on  the  other  hand,  you  sanction  the  marriage  and 
conceal  the  truth,  you  commit  a  deliberate  act  of  deceit, 


THE  LEGACY  OE  CA  EY. 


147 


and  you  leave  the  lives  of  the  young  couple  at  the  mercy 
of  a  possible  discovery,  which  might  part  husband  and 
wife — cast  a  slur  on  their  children — and  break  up  the 
household.” 

He  shuddered  while  he  listened  to  me.  “  Come  to  the 
end,”  he  cried. 

I  had  no  more  to  say, and  I  answered  him  to  that  effect. 

“No  more  to  say?”  he  replied.  “You  have  not  told 

me  vet  what  I  most  want  to  know.” 

* 

I  did  a  rash  thing  :  I  asked  what  it  was  that  he  most 
wanted  to  know. 

“Can't  you  see  it  for  yourself?”  he  demanded  indig¬ 
nantly.  “  Suppose  you  were  put  between  those  two  al¬ 
ternatives  which  you  mentioned  just  now.” 

“  Well  ?” 

“  What  would  you  do,  sir,  in  my  place.  Would  you  own 
the  disgraceful  truth — before  the  marriage — or  run  the 
risk  and  keep  the  horrid  story  to  yourself?” 

Either  way  my  reply  might  lead  to  serious  consequences. 
I  hesitated. 

He  threatened  me  with  his  poor,  feeble  hand.  It  was 
only  the  anger  of  a  moment  ;  his  humor  changed  to  sup¬ 
plication.  He  reminded  me  piteously  of  bygone  days  : 
“You  used  to  be  a  kind-hearted  man.  Has  age  hardened 
you  ?  Have  you  no  pity  left  for  your  old  friend  ?  My 
poor  heart  is  sadly  in  want  of  a  word  of  wisdom  spoken 
kindly.” 

Who  could  have  resisted  this  ?  I  took  his  hand  :  “  Be 

at  ease,  dear  minister.  In  your  place  I  should  run  the 
risk,  and  keep  that  horrid  story  to  myself.” 

He  sank  back  gently  in  his  chair.  “  Oh,  the  relief  of 
it  !  ”  he  said.  “  How  can  I  thank  you  as  I  ought  for 
quieting  my  mind  ?  ” 

I  seized  the  opportunity  of  quieting  his  mind  to  good 
purpose  by  suggesting  a  change  of  subject.  “  Let  us 
have  done  with  serious  talk  for  the  present,”  I  proposed. 
“  I  have  been  an  idle  man  for  the  last  five  years,  and  I 
want  to  tell  you  about  my  travels.” 

His  attention  began  to  wander,  he  evidently  felt  no  in¬ 
terest  in  my  travels.  “  Are  you  sure,”  he  asked  anxiously, 
“  that  we  have  said  all  we  ought  to  say  ?  No!”  he  cried, 
answering  his  own  question.  “  I  believe  1  have  forgotten 
something — I  am  certain  I  have  forgotten  something. 
Perhaps  I  mentioned  it  in  the  letter  I  wrote  to  you.  Have 
you  got  my  letter  ?  ” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAW. 


148 

I  showed  it  to  him.  He  read  the  letter,  and  gave  it  back 
to  me  with  a  heavy  sigh.  “  Not  there  !  ”  he  said  despair¬ 
ingly.  “Not  there!” 

“  Is  the  lost  remembrance  connected  with  anybody  in 
the  house  ?  ”  I  asked,  trying  to  help  him.  “  Does  it  relate, 
by  any  chance,  to  one  of  the  young  ladies  ?  ” 

“You  wonderful  man!  Nothing  escapes  you.  Yes; 
the  thing  I  have  forgotten  concerns  one  of  the  girls ! 
Stop  !  Let  me  get  at  it  by  myself.  Surely  it  relates  to 
Helena.”  He  hesitated  ;  his  face  clouded  over  with  an 
expression  of  anxious  thought.  “Yes;  it  relates  to 
Helena,”  he  repeated — “but  how?”  His  eyes  filled  with 
tears.  “I  am  ashamed  of  my  weakness,”  he  said  faintly. 
“You  don’t  know  how  dreadful  it  is  to  forget  things  in  this 
way.” 

The  injury  that  his  mind  had  sustained  now  assumed  an 
aspect  that  was  serious  indeed.  The  subtle  machinery 
which  stimulates  the  memory,  by  means  of  the  association 
of  ideas,  appeared  to  have  lost  its  working  power  in  the 
intellect  of  this  unhappy  man.  I  made  the  first  sugges¬ 
tion  that  occurred  to  me,  rather  than  add  to  his  distress  by 
remaining  silent. 

“If  we  talk  of  your  daughter,”  I  said,  “the  merest  ac¬ 
cident — a  word  spoken  at  random  by  you  or  me — may  be 
all  your  memory  wants  to  rouse  it.” 

He  agreed  eagerly  to  this.  “Yes!  Yes!  Let  me  begin. 
Helena  met  you,  I  think,  at  the  station.  Of  course,  I  re¬ 
member  that ;  it  only  happened  a  few  hours  since.  Well  ?  ” 
he  went  on  with  a  change  in  his  manner  to  parental  pride, 
which  it  was  pleasant  to  see,  “  did  you  think  my  daughter 
a  fine  girl  ?  I  hope  Helena  didn’t  disappoint  you  ?” 

“Quite  the  contrary.”  Having  made  that  necessary 
reply,  I  saw  my  way  to  keeping  his  mind  occupied  by  a 
harmless  subject.  “  It  must,  however,  be  owned,”  I  went 
on,  “  that  your  daughter  surprised  me.” 

“  In  what  way  ?  ” 

“  When  she  mentioned  her  name.  Who  could  have 
supposed  that  you — an  inveterate  enemy  to  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church — would  have  christened  your  daughter  by 
the  name  of  a  Roman  Catholic  saint  ?” 

He  listened  to  this  with  a  smile.  Had  I  happily  blun¬ 
dered  on  some  association  which  his  mind  was  still  able  to 
pursue  ? 

You  happen  to  be  wrong  this  time,”  he  said,  pleasantly. 
“  I  never  gave  my  girl  the  name  of  Helena  ;  and,  what 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIH. 


149 


is  more,  I  never  baptized  her.  You  ought  to  know  that. 
Years  and  years  ago  I  wrote  to  tell  you  that  my  poor  wife 
had  made  me  a  proud  and  happy  father.  And  surely  I 
said  that  the  child  was  born  while  she  was  on  a  visit  to  her 
brother’s  rectory.  Do  you  remember  the  name  of  the 
place?  I  told  you  that  it  was  a  remote  little  village  called 

-  Can  you  remember  the  name?”  he  asked,  with  a 

momentary  appearance  of  triumph  showing  itself,  poor  fel¬ 
low,  in  his  face. 

After  the  time  that  had  elapsed,  the  name  had  slipped 
my  memory.  When  I  confessed  this  he  exulted  over  me 
with  an  unalloyed  pleasure  which  it  was  cheering  to  see. 

“Your  memory  is  failing  you  now,”  he  said.  “The 
name  is  Long  Lanes.  And  what  do  you  think  my  wife 
did — this  is  so  characteristic  of  her — when  I  presented 
myself  at  her  bedside  ?  Instead  of  speaking  of  our  own 
baby,  she  reminded  me  of  the  name  that  I  had  given  to 
our  adopted  daughter  when  I  baptized  the  child.  ‘You 
chose  the  ugliest  name  that  a  child  can  have,’  she  said.  1 
begged  her  to  remember  that  ‘  Eunice  ’  was  a  name  in 
scripture.  She  persisted  in  spite  of  me.”  (What  firmness 
of  character  ! )  “  ‘  I  detest  the  name  of  Eunice  !  ’  she  said  ; 

‘  and  now  that  I  have  a  girl  of  my  own,  it’s  my  turn  to 
choose  the  name  ;  I  claim  it  as  my  right.’  She  was  begin¬ 
ning  to  get  excited  ;  I  allowed  her  to  have  her  own  way,  of 
course.  ‘Only  let  me  know,’  I  said,  ‘what  the  name  is  to  be, 
when  you  have  thought  of  it.’  My  dear  sir,  she  had  the 
name  ready,  without  thinking  about  it  :  ‘  My  baby  shall  be 
called  by  the  name  that  is  sweetest  in  my  ears,  the  name 
of  my  dear  mother.’  We  had — what  shall  I  call  it  ? — a  slight 
difference  of  opinion  when  I  heard  that  the  name  was  to 
be  Helena.  I  really  could  not  reconcile  it  to  my  con¬ 
science  to  baptize  a  child  of  mine  by  the  name  of  a  Popish 
saint.  My  wife’s  brother  set  things  right  between  us.  A 
worthy  good  man  ;  he  died  not  very  long  ago — I  forget 
the  date.  Not  to  detain  you  any  longer,  the  rector  of 
Long  Lanes  baptized  our  daughter.  That  is  how  she 
comes  by  her  un-English  name  ;  and  so  it  happens  that 
her  birth  is  registered  in  a  village  which  her  father  has 
never  inhabited.  I  hope,  sir,  you  think  a  little  better  of 
my  memory  now  ?  ” 

I  was  afraid  to  tell  him  what  I  really  did  think. 

He  was  not  fifty  years  old  yet  ;  and  he  had  just  exhibited 
one  of  the  sad  symptoms  which  mark  the  broken  memory 
of  old  age.  Lead  him  back  to  the  events  of  many  years 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CA/AT, 


150 

ago,  and  (as  he  had  just  proved  to  me)  he  could  remember 
well  and  relate  coherently.  But  let  him  attempt  to  recall 
circumstances  which  had  only  taken  place  a  short  time 
since,  and  forgetfulness  and  confusion  presented  the  la¬ 
mentable  result,  just  as  I  have  related  it. 

The  effort  that  he  had  made,  the  agitation  that  he  had 
undergone  in  talking  to  me,  had  confirmed  my  fears  that 
he  would  overtask  his  wasted  strength.  He  lay  back  in 
his  chair.  “Let  us  go  on  with  our  conversation,”  he  mur¬ 
mured.  “We  haven’t  recovered  what  I  had  forgotten, 
yet.”  His  eyes  closed,  and  opened  again  languidly. 
“There  was  something  I  wanted  to  recall,”  he  resumed, 
“and  you  were  helping  me.”  His  weak  voice  died  away  ; 
his  weary  eyes  closed  again.  After  waiting  until  there 
could  be  no  doubt  that  he  was  resting  peacefully  in  sleep, 
I  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A  perfect  stranger  to  the  interior  of  the  house  (seeing 
that  my  experience  began  and  ended  with  the  Minister’s 
bedchamber)  I  descended  the  stairs  in  the  character  of  a 
guest  in  search  of  domestic  information. 

On  my  way  down  I  heard  the  door  of  a  room  on  the 
ground  floor  opened,  and  a  woman’s  voice  below,  speaking 
in  a  hurry  :  “  My  dear,  I  have  not  a  moment  to  spare  ; 

my  patients  are  waiting  for  me.”  This  was  followed  by  a 
confidential  communication,  judging  by  the  tone.  “  Mind  ! 
not  a  word  about  me  to  that  old  gentleman  !  ”  Her  pa¬ 
tients  were  waiting  for  her.  Had  I  discovered  a  female 
doctor  ?  And  there  was  some  old  gentleman  whom  she 
was  not  willing  to  trust — surely  I  was  not  that  much  in¬ 
jured  man  ! 

Reaching  the  hall  just  as  the  lady  said  her  last  words,  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  and  discovered  the  middle- 
aged  stranger  who  had  called  on  “  Miss  Jillgall  ”  and  had 
promised  to  repeat  her  visit.  A  second  lady  was  at  the 
door,  with  her  back  to  me,  taking  leave  of  her  friend. 
Having  said  good-bye,  she  turned  round — and  we  con¬ 
fronted  each  other. 

I  found  her  to  be  a  little  person,  wiry  and  active,  past 
the  prime  of  life,  and  ugly  enough  to  encourage  prejudice 
in  persons  who  take  a  superficial  view  of  their  fellow- 


THF.  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


151. 

creatures.  Looking  impartially  at  the  little,  sunken  eyes 
which  rested  on  me  with  a  comical  expression  of  embar¬ 
rassment,  I  saw  signs  that  said  :  There  is  some  good  here, 
under  a  disagreeable  surface,  if  you  can  only  find  it. 

She  saluted  me  with  a  carefully  performed  courtesy,  and 
threw  open  the  door  of  a  room  on  the  ground  floor. 

“  Pray,  walk  in,  sir,  and  permit  me  to  introduce  myself. 

I  am  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  cousin — Miss  Jillgall.  Proud  indeed 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  gentleman  distinguished  in 
the  service  of  his  country — or  perhaps  I  ought  to  say,  in 
the  service  of  the  law.  The  Governor  offers  hospitality 
to  prisoners.  And  who  introduces  prisoners  to  board  and 
lodging  with  the  Governor  ? — the  law.  That,  at  least,  is 
how  I  understand  it.  Beautiful  weather  for  the  time  of 
year,  is  it  not  ?  May  I  ask — have  you  seen  your  room  ?  ” 

The  embarrassment  which  I  had  already  noticed  had  ex¬ 
tended  by  this  time  to  her  voice  and  her  manner.  She 
was  evidently  trying  to  talk  herself  into  a  state  of  confi¬ 
dence.  It  seemed  but  too  probable  that  I  was  indeed  the 
person  mentioned  by  her  prudent  friend  at  the  door. 

Having  acknowledged  that  I  had  not  seen  my  room  yet, 
my  politeness  attempted  to  add  that  there  was  no  hurry. 
The  wiry  little  lady  was  of  the  contrary  opinion  ;  she 
jumped  out  of  her  chair  as  if  she  had  been  shot  out  of  it. 
“  Pray  let  me  make  myself  useful.  The  dream  of  my  life 
is  to  make  myself  useful  to  others  ;  and  to  such  a  man  as 
you — I  consider  myself  honored.  Besides,  I  do  enjoy 
running  up  and  down  stairs.  This  way,  dear  sir  ;  this  way 
to  your  room.” 

She  skipped  up  the  stairs,  and  stopped  on  the  first  land¬ 
ing.  “  Do  you  know,  I  am  a  timid  person,  though  I  may 
not  look  like  it.  When  I  am  afraid  my  hands  turn  cold. 
They  are  cold  now  ;  my  curiosity  gets  the  better  of  me, 
and  I  am  going  to  be  inquisitive.  Did  you  notice  a  lady 
who  was  taking  leave  of  me  just  now  at  the  house  door  ?  ” 

I  replied  that  I  had  seen  the  lady  for  a  moment,  but  not 
for  the  first  time.  “Just  as  I  arrived  here  from  the  sta¬ 
tion,”  I  said,  “  I  found  her  paying  a  visit  when  you  were 
not  at  home.” 

“  Yes — and  do  tell  me  one  thing  more.”  My  readiness 
in  answering  seemed  to  have  inspired  Miss  Jillgall  with 
confidence.  I  heard  no  further  allusion  to  cold  hands,  no 
more  confessions  of  overpowering  curiosity.  “Am  1 
right,”  she  proceeded,  “  in  supposing  that  Miss  Helena  ac¬ 
companied  you  on  your  way  here  from  the  station  ?  ” 


THE  LEGACY  OE  CAIN. 


1.52 


“ Quite  right.” 

“  Did  she  say  anything  particular  when  she  saw  the  lady 
asking  for  me  at  the  door  ?” 

“Miss  Helena  thought,”  I  said,  “that  the  lady  recog¬ 
nized  me  as  a  person  whom  she  had  seen  before.” 

“  And  what  did  you  think  yourself  ?  ” 

“I  thought  Miss  Helena  was  wrong.” 

“Very  extraordinary  !  ”  With  that  remark  Miss  Jillgall 
dropped  the  subject.  The  meaning  of  her  reiterated  in¬ 
quiries  was  now,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  clear  enough.  She 
was  eager  to  discover  how  I  could  have  inspired  the  dis¬ 
trust  of  me,  expressed  in  the  caution  addressed  to  her  by 
her  friend. 

When  we  reached  the  upper  floor,  she  paused  before 
the  minister’s  room. 

“I  believe  many  years  have  passed,”  she  said,  “since 
you  last  saw  Mr.  Gracedieu.  I  am  afraid  you  have  found 
him  a  sadly  changed  man  ?  You  won’t  be  angry  with  me, 
I  hope,  for  asking  more  questions  ?  I  owe  Mr.  Gracedieu 
a  debt  of  gratitude,  which  no  devotion,  on  my  part,  can 
ever  repay.  You  don’t  know  what  a  favor  I  shall  con¬ 
sider  it,  if  you  will  tell  me  what  you  think  of  him.  Did  it 
seem  to  you  that  he  was  not  quite  himself?  I  don’t  mean 
in  his  books,  poor  dear — I  mean  in  his  mind.” 

There  was  true  sorrow  and  sympathy  in  her  face.  I 
believe  I  should  hardly  have  thought  her  ugly,  if  we  had 
first  met  at  that  moment.  Thus  far,  she  had  only  amused 
me.  I  began  really  to  like  Miss  Jillgall  now. 

“  I  must  not  conceal  from  you,”  I  replied,  “that  the 
state  of  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  mind  surprised  and  distressed  me. 
But  I  ought  also  to  tell  you  that  I  saw  him  perhaps  at  his 
worst.  The  subject  on  which  he  wished  to  speak  with  me 
would  have  agitated  any  man  in  his  state  of  health.  He 
consulted  me  about  his  daughter’s  marriage.” 

Miss  Jillgall  suddenly  turned  pale. 

“His  daughter’s  marriage  ?”  she  repeated.  “Oh,  you 
frighten  me  !  ” 

“Why  should  I  frighten  you  ?  ” 

She  seemed  to  find  some  difficulty  in  expressing  herself. 
“  I  hardly  know  how  to  put  it,  sir.  You  will  excuse  me 
(won’t  you?)  if  I  say  what  I  feel.  You  have  influence — 
not  the  kind  of  influence  that  finds  places  for  people  who 
don’t  deserve  them,  and  gets  mentioned  in  the  newspapers 
— I  only  mean  influence  over  Mr.  Gracedieu.  That’s 
what  frightens  me.  How  do  I  know — ?  Oh,  dear,  I’m 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


153 

asking  another  question  !  Allow  me,  for  once,  to  be  plain 
and  positive.  I’m  afraid,  sir,  you  have  encouraged  the 
minister  to  consent  to  Helena’s  marriage.” 

“  Pardon  me,”  I  answered,  “  you  mean  Eunice’s  mar¬ 
riage.” 

“No,  sir!  Helena.” 

“No,  madam!  Eunice.” 

“What  does  he  mean  ?”  said  Miss  Jillgall  to  herself. 

I  heard  her.  “This  is  what  I  mean,”  I  asserted,  in  my 
most  positive  manner.  “  The  only  subject  on  which  the 
minister  has  consulted  me  is  Miss  Eunice’s  marriage.” 

My  tone  left  her  no  alternative  but  to  believe  me.  She 
looked  not  only  bewildered  but  alarmed.  After  what  had 
passed  between  us,  only  one  conclusion  was  possible. 

“  Oh,  poor  man,  has  he  lost  himself  in  such  a  dreadful  way 
as  that  ?  ”  she  said  to  herself.  “  I  daren’t  believe  it.”  She 
turned  to  me.  “  You  have  been  talking  with  him  some 
time.  Please  try  to  remember.  While  Mr.  Gracedieu 
was  speaking  of  Eunice,  did  he  say  nothing  of  Helena’s 
infamous  conduct  to  her  sister  ?  ” 

Not  the  slightest  hint  of  any  such  thing,  I  assured  her, 
had  reached  my  ears. 

“Then,”  she  cried,  “  I  can  tell  you  what  he  has  forgot¬ 
ten  !  We  kept  as  much  of  that  miserable  story  to  our¬ 
selves  as  we  could,  in  mercy  to  him.  Besides,  he  was 
always  fondest  of  Eunice  ;  she  would  live  in  his  memory 
when  he  had  forgotten  the  other — the  wretch,  the  traitress, 
the  plotter,  the  fiend  !  ”  Miss  Jillgall’s  good  manners 
slipped,  as  it  were,  from  under  her  ;  she  clenched  her  fists 
as  a  final  means  of  expressing  her  sentiments.  “The 
wretched  English  language  isn’t  half  strong  enough  for 
me,”  she  declared,  with  a  look  of  fury. 

I  took  a  liberty.  “  May  I  ask  what  Miss  Helena  has 
done  ?  ”  I  said. 

“  May  you  ask  ?  Oh,  heavens  !  you  must  ask,  you  shall 
ask.  Mr.  Governor,  if  your  eyes  are  not  opened  to  Hel¬ 
ena’s  true  character,  I  can  tell  you  what  she  will  do  ;  she 
will  deceive  you  into  taking  her  part.  Do  you  think  she  * 
went  to  the  station  out  of  regard  for  the  great  man  ? 
Pooh  !  she  went  with  an  eye  to  her  own  interests,  and  she 
means  to  make  the  great  man  useful.  Thank  God,  I  can 
stop  that  !  ” 

r  She  checked  herself  there,  and  looked  suspiciously  at 
the  door  of  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  room. 

“In  the  interest  of  our  conversation,”  she  whispered, 


H4 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


“we  have  not  given  a  thought  to  the  place  we  have  been 
talking  in.  Do  you  think  the  minister  has  heard  us  ?  ” 

“  Not  if  he  is  asleep — as  I  left  him.” 

Miss  Jillgall  shook  her  head  ominously.  “  The  safe  way 
is  this  way,”  she  said.  “  Come  with  me.” 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

My  ever-helpful  guide  led  me  to  my  room — well  out  of 
Mr.  Gracedieu’s  hearing,  if  he  happened  to  be  awake — at 
the  other  end  of  the  passage.  Having  opened  the  door, 
she  paused  on  the  threshold.  The  decrees  of  that  merci¬ 
less  English  despot,  propriety,  claimed  her  for  their  own. 
“Oh,  dear  !”  she  said  to  herself,  “ought  I  to  go  in?” 

My  interest  as  a  man  (and,  what  is  more,  an  old  man)  in 
the  coming  disclosure  was  too  serious  to  be  trifled  with  in 
this  way.  I  took  her  arm  and  led  her  into  my  room  as  if 
I  was  at  a  dinner  party,  leading  her  to  the  table.  Is  it  the 
good  or  the  evil  fortune  of  mortals  that  the  comic  side  of 
life,  and  the  serious  side  of  life,  are  perpetually  in  col¬ 
lision  with  each  other  ?  We  burst  out  laughing  at  a  mo¬ 
ment  of  grave  importance  to  us  both.  Perfectly  inappro¬ 
priate,  and  perfectly  natural.  But  we  were  neither  of  us 
philosophers,  and  we  were  ashamed  of  our  own  merriment 
the  moment  it  had  ceased. 

“When  you  hear  what  I  have  to  tell  you,”  Miss  Jillgall 
began,  “  I  hope  you  will  think  as  I  do.  What  has  slipped 
Mr.  Gracedieu’s  memory,  it  may  be  safer  to  say — for  he  is 
sometimes  irritable,  poor  dear — where  he  won’t  know  any¬ 
thing  about  it.” 

With  that  she  told  the  lamentable  story  of  the  desertion 
of  Eunice. 

In  silence  I  listened,  from  first  to  last.  How  could  I 
trust  myself  to  speak,  as  I  must  have  spoken,  in  the  pres¬ 
ence  of  a  woman  ?  The  cruel  injury  inflicted  on  the  poor 
girl,  who  had  interested  and  touched  me  in  the  first  inno¬ 
cent  year  of  her  life — who  had  grown  to  womanhood  to  be 
the  victim  of  two  wretches,  both  trusted  by  her,  both 
bound  to  her  by  the  sacred  debt  of  love — so  fired  my  tem¬ 
per  that  I  longed  to  be  within  reach  of  the  man  with  a 
horsewhip  in  my  hand.  Seeing  in  my  face,  as  I  suppose, 
what  was  passing  in  my  mind,  Miss  Jillgall  expressed 
sympathy  and  admiration  in  her  own  quaint  way:  “Ah, 


THE  ./.EGA  CY  OF  CA/X. 


T5S 


I  like  to  see  you  so  angry  !  It’s  grand  to  know  that  a  man 
who  has  governed  prisoners  lias  got  such  a. pitying  heart. 
Let  me  tell  you  one  thing,  sir.  You  will  be  more  angry 
than  ever,  when  you  see  my  sweet  girl  to-morrow.  And 
mind  this — it  is  Helena’s  devouring  vanity,  Helena’s 
wicked  jealousy  of  her  sister’s  good  fortune,  that  has  done 
the  mischief.  Don’t  be  too  hard  on  Philip!  I  do  believe, 
if  the  truth  was  told,  he  is  ashamed  of  himself.” 

I  felt  inclined  to  be  harder  on  Philip  than  ever.  “  Where 
is  he  ?  ”  I  asked. 

Miss  Jillgall  started.  “  Oh,  Mr.  Governor,  don’t  show 
the  severe  side  of  yourself,  after  the  pretty  compliment  I 
have  just  paid  to  you  !  What  a  masterful  voice  !  and  what 
eyes,  dear  sir  ;  what  terrifying  eyes  !  I  feel  as  if  I  was 
one  of  your  prisoners,  and  had  misbehaved  myself.” 

I  repeated  my  question  with  improvement,  I  hope,  in 
my  looks  and  tone  :  “  Don’t  think  me  obstinate,  my  dear 

lady.  I  only  want  to  know  if  he  is  in  this  town.” 

Miss  Jillgall  seemed  to  take  a  curious  pleasure  in  dis¬ 
appointing  me  ;  she  had  not  forgotten  my  unfortunate 
abruptness  of  look  and  manner.  “  You  won’t  find  him 
here,”  she  said. 

“Perhaps  he  has  left  England  ?” 

“  If  you  must  know,  sir,  he  is  in  London — with  Mr. 
Dunboyne.” 

The  name  startled  me. 

In  a  moment  more  it  recalled  to  my  memory  a  remark¬ 
able  letter,  addressed  to  me  many  years  ago,  which  will  be 
found  in  my  introductory  narrative.  The  writer,  an  Irish 
srentleman  named  Dunbovne,  confided  to  me  that  his 
marriage  had  associated  him  with  the  murderess,  who  had 
been  recently  executed,  as  brother-in-law  to  that  infamous 
woman.  This  circumstance  he  had  naturally  kept  a  secret 
from  everyone,  including  his  son,  then  a  boy.  I  alone 
was  made  an  exception  to  the  general  rule,  because  I  alone 
could  tell  him  what  had  become  of  the  poor  little  girl,  who, 
in  spite  of  the  disgraceful  end  of  her  mother,  was  still  his 
niece.  If  the  child  had  not  been  provided  for,  he  felt  it 
his  duty  to  take  charge  of  her  education,  and  to  watch 
over  her  prospects  in  the  future.  Such  had  been  his  ob¬ 
ject  in  writing  to  me  ;  and  such  was  the  substance  of  his 
letter. 

Miss  Jillgall’s  keen  observation  noticed  the  impression 
that  had  been  produced  upon  me.  “  Mr.  Dunboyne’s 
name  seems  to  surprise  you,”  she  said. 


THE  LEGACY  OE  CATV. 


lS6 

“This  is  the  first  time  I  have  heard  you  mention  it,”  I 
answered. 

She  looked  as  if  she  could  hardly  believe  me. 

“Surely,  you  must  have  heard  the  name,”  she  said, 
“  when  1  told  you  about  poor  Eunice  ?” 

“No.” 

“  Well,  then  Mr.  Gracedieu  must  have  mentioned  it  ?” 

“No.” 

This  second  reply  in  the  negative  irritated  her. 

“  At  any  rate,”  she  said,  sharply,  “  you  appeared  to 
know  Mr.  Dunboyne’s  name,  just  now.” 

“  Certainly !  ” 

“And  yet,”  she  persisted,  “the  name  seemed  to  come 
upon  you  as  a  surprise.  I  don’t  understand  it.  If  I  have 
mentioned  Philip’s  name  once,  I  have  mentioned  it  a 
dozen  times.” 

We  were  completely  at  cross-purposes.  She  had  taken 
something  for  granted  which  was  an  unfathomable  mys¬ 
tery  to  me. 

“Well,”  I  objected,  “if  you  did  mention  his  name  a 
dozen  times — excuse  me  for  asking  the  question — what 
then  ?  ” 

“Good  heavens  !”  cried  Miss  Jillgall,  “do  you  mean  to 
say  you  never  guessed  that  Philip  was  Mr.  Dunbovne’s 
son?” 

I  was  petrified. 

His  son!  Dunboyne’s  son  !  How  could  I  have  guessed 
it  ? 

At  a  later  time  only,  the  good  little  creature  who  had  so 
innocently  deceived  me,  remembered  that  the  mischief 
might  have  been  wrought  by  the  force  of  habit.  While  he 
had  still  a  claim  on  their  regard,  the  family  had  always 
spoken  of  Eunice's  unworthy  lover  by  his  Christian  name  ; 
and  what  had  been  familiar  in  their  mouths  felt  the  influ¬ 
ence  of  custom,  before  time  enough  had  elapsed  to  make 
them  think  as  readily  of  the  enemy  as  they  had  hitherto 
thought  of  the  friend.  * 

But  I  was  ignorant  of  this,  and  the  disclosure  by  which 
I  found  myself  suddenly  confronted  was  more  than  I  could 
support.  For  the  moment  speech  was  beyond  me. 

His  son  !  Dunboyne’s  son  ! 

What  a  position  that  heartless  wretch  had  occupied  ; 
unsuspected  by  his  father,  unknown  to  himself  !  Kept  in 
ignorance  of  the  family  disgsace,  he  had  been  a  guest  in 
the  house  of  the  man  who  had  consoled  his  infamous  aunt 


TILE  LEGACY  OE  CATV. 


*57 


on  the  eve  of  her  execution — who  had  saved  his  unhappy 
cousin  from  poverty,  from  sorrow,  from  shame.  And  but 
one  human  being  knew  this.  And  that  human  being  was 
myself  ! 

Observing  my  agitation,  Miss  Jillgall  placed  her  own 
construction  on  it. 

“Do  you  know  anything  bad  of  Philip?”  she  asked, 
eagerly.  “If  it’s  something  that  will  prevent  Helena 
from  marrying  him,  tell  me  what  it  is,  I  beg  and  pray.” 

I  knew  no  more  of  the  man  (whom  she  still  called  by  his 
Christian  name  !)  than  she  had  told  me  herself  ;  there  was 
no  help  for  it  but  to  disappoint  her.  At  the  same  time  I 
was  unable  to  conceal  that  I  was  ill  at  ease,  and  that  it 
might  be  well  to  leave  me  by  myself.  After  a  look  round 
the  bed-chamber  to  see  that  nothing  was  wanting  to  my 
comfort,  she  made  her  quaint  curtsey,  and  left  me  with  her 
own  inimitable  form  of  farewell. 

“  Oh,  indeed,  I  have  been  here  too  long  !  And  I  am 
afraid  I  have  been  guilty,  once  or  twice,  of  vulgar  familiar¬ 
ity.  You  will  excuse  me,  I  hope.  This  has  been  unexcit¬ 
ing  interview — I  think  I  am  goingto  cry.” 

She  ran  out  of  the  room  ;  and  carried  away  with  her 
some  of  my  kindliest  feelings,  short  as  the  time  of  our  ac¬ 
quaintance  had  been.  What  a  wife  and  what  a  mother 
was  lost  there — and  all  for  want  of  a  pretty  face  ! 

Left  alone,  my  thoughts  inevitably  reverted  to  Dun- 
boyne  the  elder,  and  to  all  that  had  happened  in  Mr. 
Gracedieu’s  family  since  the  Irish  gentleman  had  written 
to  me  in  bygone  years. 

The  terrible  choice  of  responsibilities  which  had  preyed 
on  the  Minister’s  mind  had  been  foreseen  by  Mr.  Dun- 
boyne,  when  he  first  thought  of  adopting  his  infant  niece, 
and  had  warned  him  to  dread  what  might  happen  in  the 
future,  if  he  brought  her  up  as  a  member  of  the  family 
with  his  own  boy,  and  if  the  two  young  people  became  at 
a  later  period  attached  to  each  other.  How  had  the  wise 
foresight  which  offered  such  a  contrast  to  the  poor  Minis¬ 
ter’s  impulsive  act  of  mercy,  met  with  its  reward  ?  Fate  or 
providence,  call  it  what  we  may,  had  brought  Dunboyne’s 
son  and  the  daughter  of  the  murderess  together  ;  had  in¬ 
spired  these  two  strangers  with  love,  and  had  emboldened 
them  to  plight  their  troth  by  a  marriage  engagement. 
Was  the  man’s  cruel  betrayal  of  the  trust  placed  in  him  by 
the  faithful  girl,  to  be  esteemed  a  fortunate  circumstance 
by  the  two  persons  who  knew  the  true  story  of  her  parent- 


IS8 


T. HE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


age,  the  minister  and  myself  ?  Could  we  rejoice  in  an  act 
of  dastardly  infidelity  which  had  embittered  and  darkened 
the  gentle  harmless  life  of  the  victim  ?  Or  could  we,  on 
the  other  hand,  encourage  the  ruthless  deceit,  the  hateful 
treachery  which  had  put  the  wicked  Helena — with  no  ex¬ 
posure  to  dread  if  she  married — into  her  wronged  sister’s 
place  ?  Impossible  !  In  the  one  case  as  yi  the  other,  im¬ 
possible  ! 

Equally  hopeless  did  the  prospect  appear  when  I  tried 
to  determine  what  my  own  individual  course  of  action 
ought  to  be. 

In  mv  calmer  moments,  the  idea  had  occurred  to  my 
mind  of  going  to  Dunboyne  the  younger,  and,  if  lie  had 
any  sense  of  shame  left,  exerting  my  influence  to  lead  him 
back  to  his  betrothed  wife.  How  could  I  now  do  this, 
consistently  with  my  duty  to  the  young  man’s  father  ; 
knowing  what  I  knew,  and  not  forgetting  that  I  had  my¬ 
self  advised  Mr.  Gracedieu  to  keep  the  truth  concealed, 
when  I  was  equally  ignorant  of  Philip  Dunboyne’s  paren¬ 
tage  and  of  Helena  Gracedieu’s  treachery. 

Even  if  events  so  ordered  it  that  the  marriage  of  Eunice 
might  yet  take  place — without  any  interference  exerted 
to  produce  that  result,  one  way  or  the  other,  on  my  part — 
it  would  be  just  as  impossible  for  me  to  speak  out  now, 
as  it  had  been  in  the  long-past  years  when  I  had  so  cau¬ 
tiously  answered  Mr.  Dunboyne’s  letter.  But,  what  would 
he  think  of  me  if  accident  led,  sooner  or  later,  to  the  very 
disclosure  which  I  had  felt  bound  to  conceal  ?  The  more 
I  tried  to  forecast  the  chances  of  the  future,  the  darker 
and  the  darker  was  the  view  that  faced  me. 

To  my  sinking  heart  and  wearied  mind,  good  Dame 
Nature  presented  a  more  acceptable  prospect,  when  I 
happened  to  look  out  of  the  window  of  my  room.  There 
I  saw  the  trees  and  flower-beds  of  a  garden,  tempting  me 
irresistibly  under  the  cloudless  sunshine  of  a  fine  day.  I 
was  on  my  way  out,  to  recover  heart  and  hope,  when  a 
knock  at  the  door  stopped  me. 

Had  Miss  Jillgall  returned?  When  I  said  “come  in,” 
Mr.  Gracedieu  opened  the  door,  and  entered  the  room. 

He  was  so  weak  that  he  staggered  as  he  approached  me. 
Leading  him  to  a  chair,  I  noticed  a  wild  look  in  his  eyes, 
and  a  flush  on  his  haggard  cheeks.  Something  had  hap¬ 
pened. 

“  When  you  were  with  me  in  my  room,”  he  began,  “  did 
I  not  tell  you  that  I  had  forgotten  something  ?  ” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


*59 


“  Certainly  you  did.” 

“Well,  I  have  found  the  lost  remembrance.  My  mis¬ 
fortune — I  ought  to  call  it  the  punishment  for  my  sins — 
is  recalled  to  me  now.  The  worst  curse  that  can  fall  on  a 
father  is  the  curse  that  has  come  to  me.  I  have  a  wicked 
daughter.  My  own  child,  sir  !  my  own  child  !  ” 

Had  he  been  awake,  while  Miss  Jillgall  and  1  had  been 
talking  outside  his  door  ?  Had  he  heard  her  ask  me 
if  Mr.  Gracedieu  had  said  nothing  of  Helena’s  infamous 
conduct  to  her  sister,  while  he  was  speaking  of  Eunice  ? 
The  way  to  the  lost  remembrance  had  perhaps  been  found 
there.  In  any  case,  after  that  bitter  allusion  to  his  “  wick¬ 
ed  daughter  ”  some  result  must  follow.  Helena  Grace¬ 
dieu  and  a  day  of  reckoning  might  be  nearer  to  each 
other  already  than  I  had  ventured  to  hope. 

I  waited  anxiously  for  what  the  Minister  might  say  to 
me  next. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

RELATED  BY  THE  GOVERNOR. 

For  the  moment  the  Minister  disappointed  me. 

Without  speaking,  without  even  looking  up,  he  took  out 
his  pocketbook  and  began  to  write  in  it.  Constantly  in¬ 
terrupted — either  by  a  trembling  in  the  hand  that  held  the 
pencil,  or  by  a  difficulty  (as  I  imagined)  in  expressing 
thoughts  imperfectly  realized — his  patience  gave  way  ;  he 
dashed  the  book  on  the  floor. 

“  My  mind  is  gone  !  ”  he  burst  out.  “  Oh,  Father  in 
heaven,  let  death  deliver  me  from  a  body  without  a  mind  !  ” 

Who  could  hear  him  and  be  guilty  of  the  cruelty  of 
preaching  self-control  ?  I  picked  up  the  pocketbook  and 
offered  to  help  him. 

“  Do  you  think  you  can  ?”  he  asked. 

“  I  can  at  least  try.” 

“  Good  fellow  !  What  would  I  do  without  you  ?  See, 
now  ;  here  is  my  difficulty  :  I  have  got  so  many  things  to 
say  ;  I  want  to  separate  them — or  else  they  will  all  run  into 
each  other.  Look  at  the  book,”  my  poor  friend  said, 
mournfully  ;  “they  have  run  into  each  other  in  spite  of  me.” 

The  entries  proved  to  be  nearly  incomprehensible.  Here 
and  th^rel  discovered  some  scattered  words,  which  showed 
themselves  more  or  less  distinctly  in  the  midst  of  the  sur- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


160 

rounding  confusion.  The  first  word  that  I  could  make  out 
was  “education."  Helped  by  that  hint,  I  trusted  to  guess 
work  to  guide  me  in  speaking  to  him.  It  was  necessary  to 
be  positive,  or  he  would  have  lost  all  faith  in  me. 

“Well  ?”  he  said,  impatiently. 

“Well,”  I  answered,  “you  have  something  to  say  to  me 
about  the  education  which  you  have  given  to  your  daugh¬ 
ters.” 

“  Don’t  put  them  together  !  ”  he  cried.  “  Dear,  patient, 
sweet  Eunice  must  not  be  confounded  with  that  she- 
devil - ” 

“  Hush,  hush,  Mr.  Gracedieu  !  Badly  as  Miss  Helena 
has  behaved,  she  is  your  own  child.” 

“  I  repudiate  her,  sir  !  Think  for  a  moment  of  what  she 
lias  done — and  then  think  of  the  religious  education  that 
I  have  given  her.  Heartless  !  Deceitful  !  The  most  ig¬ 
norant  creature  in  the  lowest  dens  of  this  town  could  have 
done  nothing  more  basely  cruel.  And  this,  after  years  on 
years  of  patient  instruction  on  my  part !  What  is  religion  ? 
what  is  education  ?  I  read  a  horrible  book  once  (I  forget 
who  was  the  author)  ;  it  called  religion  superstition,  and 
education  empty  form.  I  don’t  know  ;  upon  my  word,  I 
don’t  know  that  the  book  may  not — Oh,  my  tongue  !  Why 
don’t  I  keep  a  guard  over  my  tongue  ?  Are  you  a  father, 
too?  Don’t  interrupt  me.%  Put  yourself  in  my  place,  and 
think  of  it.  Heartless,  deceitful,  and  my  daughter.  Give 
me  the  pocketbook  ;  I  want  to  see  which  memorandum 
comes  first.” 

He  had  now  wrought  himself  into  a  state  of  excitement, 
which  relieved  his  spirits  of  the  depression  that  had 
weighed  on  them  up  to  this  time.  His  harmless  vanity 
always,  as  I  suspect,  a  latent  quality  in  his  kindly  nature, 
had  already  restored  his  confidence.  With  a  self-sufficient 
smile  he  consulted  his  own  unintelligible  entries,  and  made 
his  own  wild  discoveries.  “Ah,  yes,  ‘  M  ’  stands  for  Min¬ 
ister  ;  I  come  first.  Am  I  to  blame  ?  Am  I — God  forgive 
me  my  many  sins — am  I  heartless  ?  Am  I  deceitful  ?  ” 

“  My  dear  Minister,  not  even  your  enemies  could  say 
that ! ” 

“Thank  you.  Who  comes  next?”  He  consulted  the 
book  again.  “  Her  mother,  her  sainted  mother,  comes  next. 
People  say  she  is  like  her  mother.  Was  my  wife  heartless  ? 
Was  the  angel  of  my  life  deceitful  ?  ” 

(“  That,”  I  thought  to  myself,  “  is  exactly  what  your  wife 
was — and  exactly  what  reappears  in  your  wife’s  child.”) 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


161 


“Where  does  her  wickedness  come  from  ?”  he  went  on. 
“Not  from  her  mother;  not  from  me;  not  from  a  ne¬ 
glected  education/’  He  suddenly  stepped  up  to  me,  and 
laid  his  hands  on  my  shoulders  ;  his  voice  dropped  to 
hoarse,  moaning,  awe-struck  tones.  “Shall  I  tell  you 
what  it  is  ?  A  possession  of  the  devil.  Now,  listen  to  me  ; 
I  have  made  devils  my  study.  There  are  many  of  them. 
Let  us  consider.  Of  the  hundred  million  invisible  devils 
in  possession  of  lost  souls  all  over  the  world,  how  are  we 
to  identify  the  devil  that  is  in  my  daughter  ?  ” 

It  was  so  evidently  desirable  to  prevent  any  continuation 
of  such  a  train  of  thought  as  this,  that  I  could  feel  no  hesi¬ 
tation  in  interrupting  him. 

“  Will  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say  ?  ”  I  asked,  bluntly. 

H  is  humor  changed  again  ;  he  made  me  a  low  bow  and 
went  back  to  his  chair.  “  I  will  hear  you  with  pleasure,” 
he  answered,  politely.  “You  are  the  most  eloquent 
man  I  know,  with  one  exception — myself.  Of  course, 
myself.” 

“  It  is  mere  waste  of  time,”  I  continued,  “to  regret  the 
excellent  education  which  your  daughter  has  misused.” 
Making  that  reply,  I  was  tempted  to  add  another  word  of 
truth.  All  education  is  at  the  mercy  of  two  powerful 
counter  influences — the  influence  of  temperament  and  the 
influence  of  circumstances.  But  this  was  philosophy. 
How  could  I  expect  him  to  submit  to  philosophy  ?  “  What 

we  know  of  Miss  Helena,”  I  went  on,  “must  be  enough 
for  us.  She  has  plotted  and  she  means  to  succeed.  Stop 
her.” 

“Just  my  idea  !  ”  he  declared,  firmly.  “  I  refuse  my  con¬ 
sent  to  that  abominable  marriage.” 

In  the  popular  phrase,  I  struck  while  the  iron  was  hot. 
“  You  must  do  more  than  that,  sir,”  I  told  him. 

His  vanity  suddenly  took  the  alarm — I  was  leading  him 
rather  too  undisguisedly.  He  handed  his  book  back  to 
me.  “You  will  find,”  he  said,  loftily,  “that  I  have  put  it 
all  down  there.” 

I  pretended  to  find  it,  and  read  the  proposed  entry  to 
this  effect :  “  After  what  she  has  already  done,  Helena  is 
capable  of  marrying  in  defiance  of  my  wishes  and  com¬ 
mands.  This  must  be  considered  and  provided  against.” 
So  far  I  had  succeeded  in  flattering  him.  But  when  (think 
of  his  paternal  authority)  I  alluded  next  to  his  daughter’s 
age,  his  eyes  rested  on  me  with  a  look  of  downright 
terror. 


11 


1 62 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


“  No  more  of  that !  ”  he  said.  “  I  won’t  talk  of  the  girl’s 
age  even  with  you.” 

What  did  he  mean  ?  It  was  useless  to  ask.  I  went  on 
with  the  matter  in  hand — still  deliberately  speaking  to 
him,  as  I  might  have  spoken  to  a  man  with  an  intellect  as 
clear  as  my  own.  In  my  experience,  this  practice  gener¬ 
ally  stimulates  a  weak  intelligence  to  do  its  best.  We  all 
know  how  children  receive  talk  that  is  lowered,  or  books 
that  are  lowered,  to  their  presumed  level. 

“I  shall  take  it  for  granted,”  I  continued,  “that  Miss 
Helena  is  still  under  your  lawful  authority.  She  can  only 
arrive  at  her  end  by  means  of  a  runaway  marriage.  In 
that  case  much  depends  on  the  man.  You  told  me  you 
couldn’t  help  liking  him.  This  was,  of  course,  before  you 
knew  of  the  infamous  manner  in  which  he  has  behaved. 
You  must  have  changed  your  opinion  now.” 

He  seemed  to  be  at  a  loss  how  to  reply.  “  I  am  afraid,” 
he  said,  “the  young  man  was  drawn  into  it  by  Helena.” 

Here  was  Miss  Jillgall’s  apology  for  Philip  Dunboyne, 
repeated  in  other  words.  Despising  and  detesting  the  fel¬ 
low  as  I  did,  I  was  forced  to  admit  to  myself  that  he  must 
be  recommended  by  personal  attractions,  which  it  would 
be  necessary  to  reckon  with.  I  tried  to  get  some  more  in¬ 
formation  from  Mr.  Gracedieu. 

“The  excuse  you  have  just  made  for  him,”  I  resumed, 
“  implies  that  he  is  a  weak  man  ;  easily  persuaded,  easily 
led.” 

The  Minister  answered  by  nodding  his  head. 

“  Such  weakness  as  that,”  I  persisted, is  a  vice  in  it¬ 
self.  It  has  led  already,  sir,  to  the  saddest  results.” 

He  admitted  this  by  another  nod. 

“  I  don’t  wish  to  shock  you,  Mr.  Gracedieu  ;  but  I  must 
recommend  employing  the  means  that  present  themselves. 
You  must  practise  on  this  man’s  weakness,  for  the  sake  of 
the  good  that  may  come  of  it.  I  hear  he  is  in  London 
with  his  father.  Try  the  strong  influence  and  write  to  his 
father.  There  is  another  reason  besides  for  doing  this. 
It  is  quite  possible  that  the  truth  has  been  concealed  from 
Mr.  Dunboyne  the  elder.  Take  care  that  he  is  informed  of 
what  has  really  happened ;  and  I  believe  he  will  act  in 
this  matter  like  an  honorable  and  high-minded  man. 
That  was  my  impression  of  his  character,  produced  by  a 
correspondence  which  I  had  with  him  some  years  since. 
Are  you  looking  for  pen,  ink,  and  paper?  Let  me  offer 
you  the  writing  materials  which  I  use  in  travelling.” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN.  163 

I  placed  them  before  him.  He  took  up  the  pen  ;  he  ar¬ 
ranged  the  papers  ;  he  was  eager  to  begin. 

After  writing  a  few  words,  he  stopped — reflected — tried 
again — stopped  again — tore  up  the  little  that  he  had  done 
— and  began  a  new  letter,  ending  in  the  same  miserable 
result.  It  was  impossible  to  witness  his  helplessness,  to 
see  how  pitiably  patient  he  was  over  his  own  incapacity, 
and  to  let  the  melancholy  spectacle  go  on.  I  proposed  to 
write  the  letter ;  authenticating  it  of  course  by  his  signa¬ 
ture.  When  he  allowed  me  to  take  the  pen,  he  turned 
away  his  face,  ashamed  to  let  me  see  what  he  suffered. 
Was  this  the  same  man,  whose  great  nature  had  so  nobly 
asserted  itself  in  the  condemned  cell  ?  Poor  mortality  ! 

The  letter  was  easily  written. 

I  had  only  to  inform  Mr.  Dunboyne  of  his  son’s  conduct  ; 
repeating,  in  the  strongest  language  that  I  could  use,  what 
Miss  Jillgall  had  related  to  me.  Arrived  at  the  conclu¬ 
sion,  I  tried  to  make  Mr.  Gracedieu  express  himself  in 
these  strong  terms  :  “  I  protest  against  the  marriage  in 
justice  to  you,  sir,  as  well  as  to  myself.  We  can  neither 
of  us  consent  to  be  accomplices  in  an  act  of-domestic  trea¬ 
son  of  the  basest  kind.” 

In  silence,  the  Minister  read  the  letter,  and  attached  his 
signature  to  it.  In  silence,  he  rose  and  took  my  arm.  I 
asked  if  he  wished  to  go  to  his  room.  He  only  replied  by 
a  sign.  I  offered  to  sit  with  him,  and  try  to  cheer  him. 
Gracefully,  he  pressed  my  hand  ;  gently,  he  put  me  back 
from  the  door.  Crushed  bv  the  miserable  discovery  of  the 
decay  of  his  own  faculties  !  What  could  I  do  ?  what  could 
I  say  ?  Nothing! 

Miss  Jillgall  was  in  the  drawing-room.  With  the  neces¬ 
sary  explanations,  I  showed  her  the  letter.  She  read  it 
with  breathless  interest.  “It  terrifies  one  to  think  how 
much  depends  on  old  Mr.  Dunboyne,”  she  said.  “  You 
know  him.  What  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?” 

I  could  only  repeat  what  I  had  already  said  to  the  Min¬ 
ister. 

Miss  Jillgall  possessed  treasures  of  information  to  which 
I  could  lay  no  claim.  Mr.  Dunboyne,  she  told  me,  was  a 
scholar  and  a  writer,  and  a  rich  man.  His  views  on  mar¬ 
riage  were  liberal  in  the  extreme.  Let  his  son  find  good 
principles,  good  temper,  and  good  looks  in  a  wife,  and  he 
would  promise  to  find  the  money*  “  I  get  these  particu¬ 
lars,”  said  Miss  Jillgail,  “from  dear  Eunice.  They  are 
surely  encouraging.  That  Helena  may  carry  out  Mr. 


164 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALX. 


Dunboyne’s  views  in  her  personal  appearance  is,  I  regret 
to  say,  what  I  can’t  deny.  But  as  to  the  other  qualifica¬ 
tions,  how  hopeful  is  the  prospect  !  Good  principles  and 
good  temper  ?  Ha,  ha !  Helena  has  the  principles  of 
Jezebel,  and  the  temper  of  Lady  Macbeth.” 

After  dashing  off  this  striking  sketch  of  character,  the 
fair  artist  asked  to  look  at  my  letter  again,  and  observed 
that  the  address  was  wanting.  “  I  can  set  this  right  for 
you,”  she  resumed,  “  thanks,  as  before,  to  my  sweet  Eu¬ 
nice.  And  (don’t  be  in  a  hurry)  I  can  make  myself  useful 
in  another  way.  Oh,  how  I  do  enjoy  making  myself  use¬ 
ful  !  If  you  trust  your  letter  to  the  basket  in  the  hall, 
Helena’s  lovely  eyes — capable  of  the  meanest  conceivable 
actions — are  sure  to  take  a  peep  at  the  address.  In  that 
case,  do  you  think  the  letter  would  get  to  London  ?  I  am 
afraid  you  detect  a  faint  infusion  of  spitefulness  in  that 
question.  Oh,  for  shame  !  I’ll  post  the  letter  myself  !  ” 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

For  some  reason,  which  my  unassisted  penetration  was 
unable  to  discover,  Miss  Helena  Gracedieu  kept  out  of  my 
way. 

At  dinner,  on  the  day  of  my  arrival,  and  at  breakfast  on 
the  next  morning,  she  was  present  of  course  ;  ready  to 
make  herself  agreeable  in  a  modest  way,  and  provided  with 
the  necessary  supply  of  cheerful  small  talk.  But  the  meal 
having  come  to  an  end,  she  had  her  domestic  excuse  ready, 
and  unostentatiously  disappeared  like  a  well-bred  young 
lady.  I  never  met  her  on  the  stairs,  never  found  myself 
intruding  on  her  in  the  drawing-room,  never  caught  her 
getting  out  of  my  way  in  the  garden.  As  much  at  a  loss 
for  an  explanation  of  these  mysteries  as  I  was,  Miss  J ill- 
gall’s  interest  in  my  welfare  led  her  to  caution  me  in  a 
vague  and  general  way. 

“  Take  my  word  for  it,  dear  Mr.  Governor,  she  has  some 
design  on  you.  Will  you  allow  an  insignificant  old  maid 
to  offer  a  suggestion  ?  Oh,  thank  you  ;  I  will  venture  to 
advise.  Please  look  back  at  your  experience  of  the  very 
worst  female  prisoner  you  ever  had  to  deal  with — and  be 
guided  accordingly  if  Helena,  catches  you  at  a  private  in¬ 
terview.” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


i65 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  afterward,  Helena  caught  me. 
I  was  writing  in  my  room,  when  the  maid-servant  came  in 
with  a  message  :  “  Miss  Helena’s  compliments,  sir,  and 
would  you  please  spare  her  half  an  hour,  downstairs  ?  ” 

My  first  excuse  was  of  course  that  I  was  engaged.  This 
was  disposed  of  by  a  second  message,  provided  beforehand, 
no  doubt,  for  an  anticipated  refusal  :  “Miss  Helena  wished 
me  to  say,  sir,  that  her  time  is  your  time.”  I  was  still  ob¬ 
stinate  ;  I  pleaded  next  that  my  day  was  filled  up.  A  third 
message  had  evidently  been  prepared,  even  for  this  emer¬ 
gency  :  “Miss  Helena  will  regret,  sir,  having  the  pleasure 
deferred,  but  she  will  leave  you  to  make  your  own  appoint¬ 
ment  for  to-morrow.”  Persistency  so  inveterate  as  this 
led  to  a  result  which  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  cautious  daughter 
had  not  perhaps  contemplated  ;  it  put  me  on  my  guard. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  chance,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  that  I 
might  serve  Eunice’s  interests  if  I  discovered  what  the 
enemy  had  to  say.  I  locked  up  my  writing — declared  my¬ 
self  incapable  of  putting  Miss  Helena  to  needless  incon¬ 
venience— -and  followed  the  maid  to  the  lower  floor  of  the 
house. 

The  room  to  which  I  was  conducted  proved  to  be  empty. 
I  looked  round  me. 

If  I  had  been  told  that  a  man  lived  there  who  was  abso¬ 
lutely  indifferent  to  appearances,  I  should  have  concluded 
that  his  views  were  faithfully  represented  by  his  place  of 
abode.  The  chairs  and  tables  reminded  me  of  a  railway 
waiting-room.  The  shabby  little  bookcase  was  the  mute 
record  of  a  life  indifferent  to  literature.  The. carpet  was 
of  that  dreadful  drab  color,  still  the  cherished  favorite  of 
the  average  English  mind,  in  spite  of  every  protest  that 
can  be  entered  against  it  on  behalf  of  art.  The  ceiling, 
recently  whitewashed,  made  my  eyes  ache  when  they 
looked  at  it.  On  either  side  of  the  window  flaccid  green 
curtains  hung  helplessly,  with  nothing  to  loop  them  up. 
The  writing-desk  and  the  paper-case,  viewed  as  specimens 
of  woodwork,  recalled  the  ready-made  bedrooms  on  show 
in  cheap  shops.  The  books,  mostly  in  slate-colored  bind¬ 
ings,  were  devoted  to  the  literature  which  is  called  re¬ 
ligious  ;  I  only  discovered  three  worldly  publications  among 
them — Domestic  Cookery,  Etiquette  for  Ladies,  and  Hints 
on  the  Breeding  of  Poultry.  An  ugly  little  clock,  ticking 
noisily  in  a  black  case,  and  two  candlesticks  of  base  metal 
placed  on  either  side  of  it,  completed  the  ornaments  of  the 
chimney-piece.  Neither  pictures  nor  prints  hid  the  barren- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


1 66 

ness  of  the  walls.  I  saw  no  needlework  and  no  flowers. 
The  one  object  in  the  place  which  showed  any  pretensions 
to  beauty  was  a  looking-glass  in  an  elegant  gilt  frame — 
sacred  to  vanity  and  worthy  of  the  office  that  it  filled. 
Such  was  Helena  Gracedieu’s  sitting-room.  I  really  could 
not  help  thinking  :  How  like  her  ! 

She  came  in  with  a  face  perfectly  adapted  to  the  circum¬ 
stances — pleased  and  smiling  ;  amiably  deferential,  in  con¬ 
sideration  of  the  claims  of  her  father’s  guest,  and,  to  my 
surprise,  in  some  degree  suggestive  of  one  of  those  incor¬ 
rigible  female  prisoners,  to  whom  Miss  Jillgall  had  referred 
me  when  she  offered  a  word  of  advice. 

“  How  kind  of  you  to  come  so  soon  !  Excuse  my  re¬ 
ceiving  you  in  my  housekeeping  room  ;  we  shall  not  be 
interrupted  here.  Very  plainly  furnished,  is  it  not  ?  I 
dislike  ostentation  and  display.  Ornaments  are  out  of 
place  in  a  room  devoted  to  domestic  necessities.  I  hate 
domestic  necessities.  You  notice  the  looking-glass  ?  It’s 
a  present.  I  should  never  have  put  such  a  thing  up.  Per¬ 
haps  my  vanity  excuses  it.” 

She  pointed  the  last  remark  by  a  look  in  the  glass  ;  using 
it,  while  she  despised  it.  Yes  ;  there  was  a  handsome  face, 
paying  her  its  reflected  compliment — but  not  so  well 
matched  as  it  might  have  been  by  a  handsome  figure.  Her 
feet  were  too  large  ;  her  shoulders  were  too  high  ;  the 
graceful  undulations  of  a  well-made  girl  were  absent  when 
she  walked  ;  and  her  bosom  was,  to  my  mind,  unduly  de¬ 
veloped  for  her  time  of  life. 

She  sat  down  by  me  with  her  back  to  the  light.  Hap¬ 
pening  to  be  opposite  to  the  window,  I  offered  her  the  ad¬ 
vantage  of  a  clear  view  of  my  face.  She  waited  for  me, 
and  I  waited  for  her — and  there  was  an  awkward  pause  be¬ 
fore  we  spoke.  She  set  the  example. 

“Isn’t  it  curious?”  she  remarked.  “When  two  peo¬ 
ple  have  something  particular  to  say  to  each  other,  and 
nothing  to  hinder  them,  they  never  know  how  to  say  it. 
You  are  the  oldest,  sir.  Why  don’t  you  begin  ?”  # 

**  Because  I  have  nothing  particular  to  say.” 

“In  plain  words,  you  mean  that  I  must  begin  ?” 

“  If  you  please.” 

“  Very  well.  I  want  to  know  whether  I  have  given  you 
(and  Miss  Jillgall,  of  course),  as  much  time  as  you  want, 
and  as  many  opportunities  as  you  could  desire  ?” 

“  Pray  go  on,  Miss  Helena.” 

“  Have  I  not  said  enough  already  ?  ” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CATH.  167 

“  Not  enough,  I  regret  to  say,  to  convey  your  meaning 
to  me.” 

She  drew  her  chair  a  little  farther  away  from  me.  “  I 
am  sadly  disappointed,”  she  said.  “  I  had  such  a  high  opin¬ 
ion  of  your  perfect  candor.  I  thought  to  myself,  there  is 
such  a  striking  expression  of  frankness  in  his  face.  Another 
illusion  gone.  I  hope  you  won’t  think  I  am  offended  if  I 
say  a  bold  word.  I  am  only  a  young  girl,  to  be  sure  ;  I  am 
not  quite  such  a  fool  as  you  take  me  for.  Do  you  really 
think  I  don’t  know  that  Miss  Jillgall  has  been  telling  you 
everything  that  is  bad  about  me  ;  putting  every  mistake 
that  I  have  made,  every  fault  that  I  have  committed,  in  the 
worst  possible  point  of  view  ?  And  you  have  listened  to  her — 
quite  naturally!  And  you  are  prejudiced,  strongly  preju¬ 
diced,  against  me — what  else  could  you  be  under  the  circum¬ 
stances  ?  I  don’t  complain  ;  I  have  purposely  kept  out  of 
your  way,  and  out  of  Miss  Jillgall’s  way  ;  in  short,  I  have 
afforded  you  every  facility,  as  the  prospectuses  say.  I  only 
want  to  know  if  my  turn  has  come  at  last.  Once  more, 
have  I  given  you  time  enough,  and  opportunities  enough  ?” 

“A  great  deal  more  than  enough.” 

“  Do  you  mean  that  you  have  made  up  your  mind  about 
me  without  stopping  to  think  ?  ” 

“  That  is  exactly  what  I  mean.  An  act  of  treachery, 
Miss  Helena,  is  an  act  of  treachery  ;  no  honest  person  need 
hesitate  to  condemn  it.  I  am  sorry  you  sent  for  me.” 

I  got  up  to  go.  With  an  ironical  gesture  of  remon¬ 
strance,  she  signed  to  me  to  sit  down  again. 

“Must  I  remind  you,  dear  sir,  of  our  famous  native  virt¬ 
ue  ?  Fair  play  is  surely  due  to  a  young  person  who  has 
nobody  to  take  her  part  ?  You  talked  of  treachery,  just 
now,  I  deny  the  treachery.  Please  give  me  a  hearing.” 

I  returned  to  my  chair. 

“Or  would  you  prefer  waiting,”  she  went  on,  “  till  my 
sister  comes  here  later  in  the  day,  and  continues  what  Miss 
Jillgall  has  begun,  with  the  great  advantage  of  being  young 
and  nice  looking?” 

When  the  female  mind  gets  into  this  state,  no  wise  man 
answers  the  female  questions. 

“Am  I  to  take  silence  as  meaning  yes  ?”  Miss  Helena 
inquired. 

I  begged  her  to  interpret  my  silence  in  the  sense  most 
agreeable  to  herself. 

This  naturally  encouraged  her.  She  made  a  proposal  : 
“Do  you  mind  changing  places,  sir  ?  ” 


i68 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


“Just  as  you  like,  Miss  Helena,” 

We  changed  chairs  ;  the  light  now  fell  full  on  her  face. 
Had  she  deliberately  challenged  me  to  look  into  her  secret 
mind  if  I  could  ?  Anything  like  the  stark  insensibility  of 
that  young  girl  to  every  refinement  of  feeling,  to  every  be¬ 
coming  doubt  of  herself,  to  every  customary  timidity  of 
her  age  and  sex  in  the  presence  of  a  man  who  had  not 
disguised  his  unfavorable  opinion  of  her,  I  never  met  with 
in  all  my  experience  of  the  world  and  women. 

“I  wish  to  be  quite  mistress  of  myself,”  she  explained; 
“your  face,  for  some  reason  which  I  really  don’t  know, 
irritates  me.  The  fact  is,  I  have  great  pride  in  keeping 
my  temper.  Please  make  allowances.  Now  about  Miss 
Jillgall.  I  suppose  she  told  you  how  my  sister  first  met 
with  Philip  Dunboyne  ?  ” 

“  Yes.” 

“  She  also  mentioned,  perhaps,  that  he  was  a  highly  cul¬ 
tivated  man  ?  ” 

“She  did.” 

“Now  we  shall  get  on.  When  Philip  came  to  our  town 
here,  and  saw  me  for  the  first  time — do  you  object  to  my 
speaking  familiarly  of  him  by  his  Christian  name  ?” 

“In  the  case  of  anyone  else  in  your  position,  Miss  Hel¬ 
ena,  I  should  venture  to  call  it  bad  taste.” 

I  was  provoked  into  saying  that.  It  failed  entirely  as  a 
well-meant  effort  in  the  way  of  implied  reproof.  Miss 
Helena  smiled. 

“You  grant  me  a  liberty  which  you  would  not  concede 
to  another  girl.”  That  was  how  she  viewed  it.  “We  are 
getting  on  better  already.  To  return  to  what  I  was  say¬ 
ing.  When  Philip  first  saw  me — I  have  it  from  himself, 
mind— he  felt  that  I  should  have  been  his  choice,  if  he  had 
met  with  me  before  he  met  with  my  sister.  Do  you  blame 
him  ?  ” 

“  If  you  will  take  my  advice,”  I  said,  “you  will  not  in¬ 
quire  too  closely  into  my  opinion  of  Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne.” 

“  Perhaps  you  don’t  wish  me  to  go  on,”  she  suggested. 

“  On  the  contrary  ;  pray  go  on,  if  you  like.” 

After  that  concession,  she  was  amiability  itself. 

“  Oh,  yes,”  she  assured  me,  “that’s  easily  done.”  And 
she  went  on  accordingly.  “  Philip  having  informed  me 
of  the  state  of  his  affections,  I  naturally  followed  his  ex¬ 
ample.  In  fact,  we  exchanged  confessions.  Our  mar¬ 
riage  engagement  followed  as  a  matter  of  course.  Do  you 
blame  me  ?  ” 


TILE  LEGACY  OE  CAIN. 


169 


“  Go  on.” 

“  I  have  no  more  to  say.” 

She  made  that  amazing  reply  with  such  amazing  com¬ 
posure,  that  I  began  to  fear  there  must  have  been  some 
misunderstanding  between  us.  “  Is  that  really  all  you 
have  to  say  for  yourself?”  I  persisted. 

Her  patience  with  me  was  most  exemplary.  She  low¬ 
ered  herself  to  my  level.  Not  trusting  to  words  only  on 
this  occasion,  she  (so  to  say)  beat  her  meaning  into  my 
head  by  gesticulating  on  her  fingers,  as  if  she  was  educat¬ 
ing  a  child. 

“  Philip  and  I,”  she  began,  “  are  the  victims  of  an  acci¬ 
dent,  which  kept  us  apart  when  we  ought  to  have  been 
together — we  are  not  responsible  for  an  accident.”  She 
impressed  this  upon  me  by  touching  her  forefinger. 
“  Philip  and  I  fell  in  love  with  each  other  at  first  sight — 
we  are  not  responsible  for  the  feelings  implanted  in  our 
natures  by  an  all-wise  Providence.”  She  assisted  me  in 
understanding  this  by  touching  her  middle  finger.  “  Philip 
and  I  owe  a  duty  to  each  other,  and  accept  a  responsibility 
under  the  circumstances — the  responsibility  of  getting 
married.”  A  touch  on  her  third  finger  and  an  indulgent 
bow,  announced  that  the  lesson  was  ended.  “  I  am  not  a 
clever  man  like  you,”  she  modestly  acknowledged,  “but  I 
ask  you  to  help  us,  when  you  next  see  my  father,  with 
some  confidence.  You  know  exactly  what  to  say  to  him, 
by  this  time.  Nothing  has  been  forgotten.” 

“  Pardon  me,”  I  said,  “  a  person  has  been  forgotten.” 

“  Indeed  ?  What  person  ?  ” 

“Your  sister.” 

A  little  perplexed  at  first,  Miss  Helena  reflected,  and  re¬ 
covered  herself. 

“Ah,  yes,”  she  said  ;  “  I  was  afraid  I  might  be  obliged 
to  trouble  you  for  an  explanation — I  see  it  now.  You  are 
shocked  (very  properly)  when  feelings  of  enmity  exist 
between  near  relations  ;  and  you  wish  to  be  assured  that 
I  bear  no  malice  toward  Eunice.  She  is  violent,  she  is 
sulky,  she  is  stupid,  she  is  selfish  ;  and  she  cruelly  refuses 
to  live  in  the  same  house  with  me.  Make  your  mind 
easy,  sir  ;  I  forgive  my  sister.” 

Let  me  not  attempt  to  disguise  it — Miss  Helena  Grace- 

dieu  confounded  me. 

Ordinary  audacity  is  one  of  those  forms  ol  insolence 
which  mature  experience  dismisses  with  contempt.  This 
girl’s  audacity  struck  down  all  resistance  for  one  shocking 


170 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


reason;  it  was  unquestionably  sincere.  Strong  convictions 
of  her  own  virtue  stared  at  me  in  her  proud  and  steady 
eyes.  At  that  time  I  was  not  aware  of  what  I  have  learnt 
since.  The  horrid  hardening  of  her  moral  sense  had  been 
accomplished  by  herself.  In  her  diary  there  had  been 
found  the  confession  of  a  secret  course  of  reading — with 
supplementary  reflections  flowing  from  it,  which  need  only 
to  be  described  as  worthy  of  their  source. 

A  person  capable  of  repentance  and  reform  would,  in 
her  place,  have  seen  that  she  had  disgusted  me.  Not  a 
suspicion  of  this  occurred  to  Miss  Helena.  “  I  see  you  are 
embarrassed,”  she  remarked,  “  and  I  am  at  a  loss  to  ac¬ 
count  for  it.  You  are  too  polite  to  acknowledge  that  I 
have  not  made  a  friend  of  you  yet.  Oh,  I  mean  to  do  it  1  ” 

“  No,”  I  said,  “  I  think  not.  ” 

“  We  shall  see,”  she  replied.  “  Sooner  or  later,  you  will 
find  yourself  saying  a  kind  word  to  my  father  for  Philip 
and  me.”  She  rose,  and  took  a  turn  in  the  room — and 
stopped  at  the  window,  eying  me  attentively.  “  Are  you 
thinking  of  Eunice  ?”  she  asked. 

“  Yes.” 

“  She  has  your  sympathy,  I  suppose  ?” 

“  My  heartfelt  sympathy.” 

“  I  needn’t  ask  how  I  stand  in  your  estimation,  after 
that.  Pray  express  yourself  freely.  Your  looks  confess 
it — you  view  me  with  a  feeling  of  aversion.” 

“  I  view  you  with  a  feeling  of  horror.” 

The  exasperating  influences  of  her  language,  her  looks, 
and  her  tones  would,  as  I  venture  to  think,  have  got  to  the 
end  of  another  man’s  self-control  before  this.  Any  way, 
she  had  at  last  irritated  me  into  speaking  as  strongly  as  I 
felt.  What  I  said  had  been  so  plainly  (perhaps  so  rudely) 
expressed,  that  misinterpretation  of  it  seemed  to  be  im¬ 
possible.  She  mistook  me,  nevertheless.  The  most  merci¬ 
less  disclosure  of  the  dreary  side  of  human  destiny  is  sure¬ 
ly  to  be  found  in  the  failure  of  words,  spoken  or  written, 
so  to  answer  their  purpose  that  we  can  trust  them,  in  our 
attempts  to  communicate  with  each  other.  Even  when 
he  seems  to  be  connected,  by  the  nearest  and  dearest  rela¬ 
tions,  with  his  fellow-mortals,  what  a  solitary  creature, 
tried  by  the  test  of  sympathy,  the  human  being  really  is  in 
the  teeming  world  that  he  inhabits  !  Affording  one  more 
example  of  the  impotence  of  human  language  to  speak 
for  itself,  my  misinterpreted  words  had  found  their  way 
to  the  one  sensitive  place  in  Helena  Gracedieu’s  impene- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIAr. 


171 

trable  nature.  She  betrayed  it  in  the  quivering  and  flush¬ 
ing  of  her  hard  face,  and  in  the  appeal  to  the  looking- 
glass  which  escaped  her  eyes  the  next  moment.  My  in¬ 
nocent  reply  had  roused  the  idea  of  a  covert  insult  ad¬ 
dressed  to  her  handsome  face.  In  other  words,  I  had 
wounded  her  vanity.  Driven  by  resentment,  out  came 
the  secret  distrust  of  me  which  had  been  lurking  in  that 
cold  heart  from  the  moment  we  first  met. 

“  I  inspire  you  with  horror,  and  Eunice  inspires  you 
with  compassion,”  she  said.  “That,  Mr.  Governor,  is  not 
natural.” 

“May  I  ask  why  ? ” 

“You  know  why.” 

“  No.” 

“You  will  have  it  ?” 

“  I  want  an  explanation,  Miss  Helena,  if  that  is  what  you 
mean  ?  ” 

“  Take  your  explanation,  then  !  You  are  not  the 
stranger  you  are  said  to  be  to  my  sister  and  to  me.  Your 
interest  in  Eunice  is  a  personal  interest  of  some  kind.  I 
don’t  pretend  to  guess  what  it  is.  As  for  myself,  it  is  plain 
that  somebody  else  has  been  setting  you  against  me  before 
Miss  Jillgall  got  possession  of  your  private  ear.” 

In  alluding  to  Eunice  she  had  blundered,  strangely 
enough,  on  something  like  the  truth.  But  when  she  spoke 
of  herself,  the  headlong  malignity  of  her  suspicion — mak¬ 
ing  every  allowance  for  the  anger  that  had  hurried  her 
into  them — seemed  to  call  for  some  little  protest  in  the 
interests  of  common  sense.  I  told  her  she  was  completely 
mistaken. 

“  I  am  completely  right,”  she  answered  ;  “  I  saw  it.” 

“  Saw  what  ?  ” 

“Saw  you  pretending  to  be  a  stranger  to  me.” 

“When  did  I  do  that?” 

“You  did  it  when  we  met  at  the  station.” 

The  assertion  was  too  ridiculous  for  the  preservation  of 
any  control  over  my  own  sense  of  humor.  It  was  wrong  ; 
but  it  was  inevitable — I  laughed.  She  looked  at  me  with 
a  fury  revealing  a  concentration  of  evil  passion  in  her 
which  I  had  not  seen  yet.  I  asked  her  pardon  ;  I  begged 
her  to  think  a  little  before  she  persisted  in  taking  a  view 
of  my  conduct  unworthy  of  her,  and  unjust  to  myself. 

“  Unjust  to  you  !  ”  she  burst  out.  “Who  are  you  ?  A 
man  who  has  driven  your  trade  has  spies  always  at  his 
command — yes!  and  knows  howto  use  them.  You  were 


r72 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


primed  with  private  information — you  had,  for  all  I  know, 
a  stolen  photograph  of  me  in  your  pocket — before  ever 
you  came  to  our  town.  Do  you  still  deny  it  ?  Oh,  sir, 
why  degrade  yourself  by  telling  a  lie  ?  ” 

No  such  outrage  as  this  had  ever  been  inflicted  on  me, 
at  any  time  in  my  life.  My  forbearance  must,  I  suppose, 
have  been  more  severely  tried  than  I  was  aware  of  myself. 
With  or  without  excuse  for  me,  I  was  weak  enough  to  let 
a  girl’s  spiteful  tongue  sting  me,  and,  worse  still,  to  let  her 
see  that  I  felt  it. 

“You  shall  have  no  second  opportunity,  Miss  Gracedieu, 
of  insulting  me.”  With  that  foolish  reply,  I  opened  the 
door  violently  and  went  out. 

She  ran  after  me,  triumphing  in  having  roused  the 
temper  of  a  man  old  enough  to  have  been  her  grandfather, 
and  caught  me  by  the  arm.  “  Your  own  conduct  has  exposed 
you.”  (That  was  literally  how  she  expressed  herself.)  “  I 
saw  it  in  your  eyes  when  we  met  at  the  station.  You,  the 
stranger — you,  who  allowed  poor  ignorant  me  to  introduce 
myself — you  knew  me  all  the  time,  knew  me  by  sight  !  ” 

I  shook  her  hand  off  with  an  inconsiderate  roughness, 
humiliating  to  remember.  “  It’s  false  !  ”  I  cried.  “  I  knew 
you  by  your  likeness  to  your  mother.” 

The  moment  the  words  had  passed  my  lips  I  came  to 
my  senses  again  ;  I  remembered  what  fatal  words  they 
might  prove  to  be,  if  they  reached  the  Minister’s  ears. 

Heard  only  by  his  daughter,  my  reply  seemed  to  cool 
the  heat  of  her  anger  in  an  instant. 

“So  you  knew  my  mother?”  she  said.  “My  father 
never  told  us  that  when  he  spoke  of  your  being  such  a  very 
old  friend  of  his.  Strange,  to  say  the  least  of  it.” 

I  was  wise  enough — now  when  wisdom  had  come  too 
late — not  to  attempt  to  explain  myself,  and  not  to  give  her 
an  opportunity  of  saying  more. 

“We  are  neither  of  us  in  a  state  of  mind,”  I  answered, 
“  to  allow  this  interview  to  continue.  I  must  try  to  re¬ 
cover  my  composure,  and  I  leave  you  to  do  the  same.” 

In  the  solitude  of  my  room  I  was  able  to  look  my  posi¬ 
tion  fairly  in  the  face. 

Mr.  Gracedieu’s  wife  had  come  to  me,  in  the  long-past 
time,  without  her  husband’s  knowledge.  Tempted  to  a 
cruel  resolve  by  the  maternal  triumph  of  having  an  infant 
of  her  own,  she  had  resolved  to  rid  herself  of  the  poor  lit¬ 
tle  rival  in  her  husband’s  fatherly  affection,  by  consigning 
the  adopted  child  to  the  keeping  of  a  charitable  asylum. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


*73 

She  had  dared  to  ask  me  to  help  her.  I  had  kept  the  se¬ 
cret  of  her  shameful  visit — I  can  honestly  say,  for  the  Min¬ 
ister’s  sake.  And  now,  long  after  time  had  doomed  these 
events  to  oblivion,  they  were  revived — and  revived  by  me. 
Thanks  to  my  folly,  Mr.  Graccdieu’s  daughter  knew  what 
I  had  concealed  from  Mr.  Gracedieu  himself. 

What  course  did  respect  for  my  friend,  and  respect  for 
myself,  counsel  me  to  take  ? 

I  could  only  see  before  me  a  choice  of  two  evils.  To 
wait  for  events — with  the  too  uncertain  prospect  of  a  vin¬ 
dictive  betrayal  of  my  indiscretion  by  Helena  Gracedieu. 
Or  to  take  the  initiative  into  mv  own  hands,  and  risk  con- 
sequences  which  I  might  regret  to  the  end  of  my  life,  by 
making  my  confession  to  the  Minister. 

Before  I  had  decided  somebody  knocked  at  the  door.  It 
was  the  maid-servant  again.  Was  it  possible  she  had  been 
sent  by  Helena  ? 

“  Another  message  ?  ” 

“Yes,  sir.  My  master  wishes  to  see  you.” 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

RELATED  BY  THE  GOVERNOR. 

I  waited  a  little  after  the  receipt  of  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  mes¬ 
sage  ;  considering,  under  its  new  aspect,  the  position  in 
which  I  found  myself  placed. 

Had  the  minister’s  desire  to  see  me  been  inspired  by  his 
daughter’s  betrayal  of  what  I  had  unfortunately  said  to 
her  ?  Although  he  would  certainly  not  consent  to  receive 
her  personally,  she  would  be  at  liberty  to  adopt  a  written 
method  of  communication  with  him,  and  the  letter  might 
be  addressed  in  such  a  manner  as  to  pique  his  curiosity. 
If  Helena’s  vindictive  purpose  had  been  already  accom¬ 
plished,  and  if  Mr.  Gracedieu  left  me  no  alternative  but 
to  present  his  unworthy  wife  in  her  true  character,  I  can 
honestly  say  that  I  dreaded  the  consequences,  not  as  they 
might  affect  myself,  but  as  they  might  affect  my  unhappy 
friend  in  his  enfeebled  state  of  body  and  mind. 

When  I  entered  his  room  he  was  still  in  bed. 

The  bed  curtains  were  so  drawn,  on  the  side  nearest  to 
the  window,  as  to  keep  the  light  from  falling  too  brightly 
on  his  weak  eyes.  In  the  shadow  thus  thrown  on  him  it 


174 


THE  LEGACY  OE  CAW. 


was  not  possible  to  see  his  face  plainly  enough,  from  the 
open  side  of  the  bed,  to  arrive  at  any  definite  conclusion 
as  to  what  was  passing  in  his  mind.  After  having  been 
awake  for  some  hours  during  the  earlier  part  of  the  night 
he  had  enjoyed  a  long  and  undisturbed  sleep.  “  I  feel 
stronger  this  morning,”  he  said,  “  and  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you  while  my  mind  is  clear.” 

If  the  quiet  tone  of  his  voice  was  not  an  assumed  tone, 
he  was  surely  ignorant  of  ail  that  had  passed  between  his 
daughter  and  myself. 

“  Eunice  will  be  here  soon,”  he  proceeded,  “and  I  ought 
to  explain  why  I  have  sent  for  her  to  come  and  meet  you. 
I  have  reasons,  serious  reasons,  mind,  for  wishing  you  to 
compare  her  personal  appearance  with  Helena’s  personal 
appearance.  Wait  and  hear  why  !  I  want  you  to  observe 
them  carefully  and  then  to  tell  me  which  of  the  two,  on  a 
fair  comparison,  looks  the  oldest.  Pray  bear  in  mind  that 
I  attach  the  greatest  importance  to  the  conclusion  at  which 
you  may  arrive.” 

He  spoke  more  clearly  and  collectedly  than  I  had  heard 
him  speak  yet.  Here  and  there  I  detected  hesitations  and 
repetitions,  which  I  have  purposely  passed  over.  The  sub¬ 
stance  of  what  he  said  to  me  is  all  that  I  shall  present  in 
this  place.  Careful  as  I  have  been  to  keep  my  record  of 
events  within  strict  limits,  I  have  written  at  a  length  which 
I  was  far  indeed  from  contemplating  when  I  accepted  Mr. 
Gracedieu’s  invitation. 

Having  promised  to  comply  with  the  strange  request 
which  he  had  addressed  to  me,  I  ventured  to  remind  him  of 
the  past  occasions  on  which  he  had  alluded  to  his  daugh¬ 
ters,  and  had  pointedly  abstained,  when  the  subject  pre¬ 
sented  itself,  from  speaking  of  their  ages.  “  You  have  left 
it  to  my  discretion,”  I  added,  “to  decide  a  question  in 
which  you  are  seriously  interested,  relating  to  these  two 
young  ladies.  Have  I  no  excuse  for  regretting  that  I 
have  not  been  admitted  to  your  confidence  a  little  more 
freely  ? ” 

“  You  have  every  excuse,”  he  answered.  “  But  you 
trouble  me  all  the  same.  There  was  something  else  that 
I  had  to  say  to  you — and  your  curiosity  gets  in  the  way.” 

He  said  this  with  a  sullen  emphasis.  In  my  position  the 
worst  of  evils  was  suspense.  I  told  him  that  my  curiosity 
could  wait,  and  I  begged  that  he  would  relieve  his  mind  of 
what  was  pressing  on  it  at  the  moment. 

“Let  me  think  a  little,”  he  said. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


1 75 

I  waited  anxiously  for  the  decision  at  which  he  might 
arrive.  Nothing  came  of  it  to  justify  my  misgivings. 
“  Leave  what  I  have  in  my  mind  to  ripen  in  my  mind,”  he 
said.  “The  mystery  about  the  girls’  ages  seems  to  ir¬ 
ritate  you.  If  I  {Lit  my  good  friend’s  temper  to  any  fur¬ 
ther  trial,  he  will  be  of  no  use  to  me.  Never  mind  if  my 
head  swims  ;  I’m  used  to  that.  Now  listen  !  ” 

Strange  as  the  preface  was,  the  explanation  that  followed 
was  stranger  yet.  I  offer  a  shortened  and  simplified  ver¬ 
sion,  giving  accurately  the  substance  of  what  I  heard. 

The  minister  entered  without  reserve  on  the  mysterious 
subject  of  the  ages.  Eunice,  he  informed  me,  was  nearly 
two  years  older  than  Helena.  If  she  outwardly  showed 
her  superiority  of  age,  any  person  acquainted  with  the 
circumstances  under  which  the  adopted  infant  had  been 
received  into  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  childless  ’  household  need 
only  compare  the  so-called  sisters  in  after-life,  and  would 
thereupon  identify  the  eldest-looking  young  lady  of  the 
two  as  the  offspring  of  the  woman  who  had  been  hanged 
for  murder.  With  such  a  misfortune  as  this  presenting 
itself  as  a  possible  prospect,  the  minister  was  bound  to 
prevent  the  girls  from  ignorantly  betraying  each  other  by 
allusions  to  their  ages  and  their  birthdays.  After  much 
thought,  he  had  devised  a  desperate  means  of  meeting  the 
difficulty — already  made  known,  as  I  am  told,  for  the  in¬ 
formation  of  strangers  who  may  read  the  pages  that  have 
gone  before  mine.  My  friend’s  plan  of  proceeding  had, 
by  the  nature  of  it,  exposed  him  to  injurious  comment,  to 
embarrassing  questions,  and  to  doubts  and  misconceptions, 
all  patiently  endured  in  consideration  of  the  security  that 
had  been  attained.  Proud  of  his  explanation,  Mr.  Grace¬ 
dieu’s  vanity  called  upon  me  to  acknowledge  that  my  curi¬ 
osity  had  been  satisfied  and  my  doubts  completely  set  at 
rest. 

No,  my  obstinate  common  sense  was  not  reduced  to  sub¬ 
mission  even  yet.  Looking  back  over  a  lapse  of  seventeen 
vears,  I  asked  what  had  happened,  in  that  long  interval, 
to  justify  the  anxieties  which  still  appeared  to  trouble  my 

friend. 

This  time  my  harmless  curiosity  could  be  gratified  by  a 
reply  expressed  in  three  words— nothing  had  happened. 

Then  what  in  Heaven’s  name  was  the  minister  afraid  of  ? 

His  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper.  He  said  :  “  I  am  afraid 
of  the  women.” 

Who  were  the  women  ? 


T  76 


THE  LEGACY  OE  CAIN. 


Two  of  them  actually  proved  to  be  the  servants  employed 
in  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  house  at  the  bygone  time  when  he 
brought  the  child  home  with  him  from  the  prison  !  To 
point  out  the  absurdity  of  the  reasons  that  he  gave  for 
fearing  what  female  curiosity  might  yet  attempt  if  circum¬ 
stances  happened  to  encourage  it,  would  have  been  a  mere 
waste  of  words.  Dismissing  the  subject,  I  next  ascertained 
that  the  minister’s  doubts  extended  even  to  the  two  female 
warders  who  had  been  appointed  to  watch  the  murderess 
in  turn  during  her  last  days  in  prison.  I  easily  relieved 
his  mind  in  this  case.  One  of  the  warders  was  dead.  The 
other  had  married  a  farmer  in  Australia.  Had  we  ex¬ 
hausted  the  list  of  suspected  persons  yet?  No  ;  there  was 
one  more  left  ;  and  the  minister  declared  that  he  had  first 
met  with  her  in  my  official  residence  at  the  time  when  I  was 
governor  of  the  prison. 

“She  presented  herself  to  me  by  name,”  he  said  ;  “and 
she  spoke  rudely.  A  Miss — ”  He  paused  to  consult  his 
memory  and  made  the  effort  in  vain.  Having  been  re¬ 
minded  of  the  name  only  a  few  years  since,  I  was  able  to 
help  him.  “  That’s  it  !”  he  cried — “  Miss  Chance.” 

My  friend  had  interested  me  in  his  imaginary  perils  at 
last.  It  was  just  possible  that  he  might  have  a  formidable 
person  to  deal  with  now. 

During  my  residence  at  Florence  the  chaplain  and  I  had 
taken  many  a  retrospective  look  (as  old  men  will)  at  past 
events  in  our  lives.  My  former  colleague  spoke  of  the 
time  when  he  had  performed  clerical  duty  for  his  friend, 
the  rector  of  a  parish  church  in  London.  Neither  he  nor 
I  had  heard  again  of  the  “  Miss  Chance”  of  our  disagree¬ 
able  prison  experience,  whom  he  had  married  to  the  dash¬ 
ing  Dutch  gentleman  Mr.  Tenbruggen.  We  could  only 
wonder  what  had  become  of  that  mysterious  married  pair. 

Mr.  Gracedieu  being  undoubtedly  ignorant  of  the  wom¬ 
an’s  marriage,  it  was  not  easy  to  say  what  the  consequence 
might  be,  in  his  excitable  state,  if  I  informed  him  of  it. 
He  would,  in  all  probability,  conclude  that  I  knew  more 
of  the  woman  than  he  did.  I  decided  on  keeping  my  own 
counsel,  for  the  present  at  least. 

Passing  at  once,  therefore,  to  the  one  consideration  of 
any  importance,  I  endeavored  to  find  out  whether  Mr. 
Gracedieu  and  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  had  met  or  had  com¬ 
municated  with  each  other  in  any  way  during  the  long 
period  of  separation  that  had  taken  place  between  the 
minister  and  myself.  If  he  had  been  so  unlucky  as  to 


THE  LEGACY  OE  CAIN. 


177 


offend  her  she  was,  beyond  all  doubt,  an  enemy  to  be 
dreaded.  Apart,  however,  from  a  misfortune  of  this  kind, 
she  would  rank,  in  my  opinion,  with  the  other  harmless 
objects  of  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  morbid  distrust. 

In  making  my  inquiries  I  found  that  I  had  an  obstacle 
to  contend  with. 

While  he  felt  the  renovating  influence  of  the  repose  that 
he  enjoyed  the  minister  had  been  able  to  think  and  to  ex¬ 
press  himself  with  less  difficulty  than  usual.  But  the  re¬ 
serves  of  strength,  on  which  the  useful  exercise  of  his 
memory  depended,  began  to  fail  him  as  the  interview  pro¬ 
ceeded.  He  vaguely  recollected  that  ‘‘something  un¬ 
pleasant  had  passed  between  that  audacious  woman  and 
himself.”  But  at  what  date — and  whether  by  word  of 
mouth  or  by  correspondence — -was  more  than  his  memory 
could  recall.  He  believed  he  was  not  mistaken  in  telling 
me  that  he  “  had  been  in  two  minds  about  her.”  At  one 
time  he  was  satisfied  that  he  had  taken  wise  measures  for 
his  own  security  if  she  attempted  to  annoy  him.  But  there 
was  another  and  a  later  time  when  doubts  and  fears  had 
laid  hold  of  him  again.  If  I  wanted  to  know  how  this 
had  happened  he  fancied  it  was  through  a  dream,  and  if  I 
asked  what  the  dream  was  it  bewildered  him  to  think  of  it. 
He  could  only  beg  and  pray  that  I  would  spare  his  poor 
head. 

Unwilling  even  yet  to  submit  unconditionally  to  defeat, 
it  occurred  to  me  to  try  a  last  experiment  on  my  friend 
without  calling  for  any  mental  effort  on  his  own  part.  The 
“  Miss  Chance  ”  of  former  days  might,  by  a  bare  possi¬ 
bility,  have  written  to  him.  I  asked,  accordingly,  if  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  keeping  his  letters,  and  if  he  would  allow 
me  (when  he  had  rested  a  little)  to  lay  them  open  before 
him,  so  that  he  could  look  at  the  signatures.  “  You  might 
find  the  lost  recollection  in  that  way,”  I  suggested,  “at 
the  bottom  of  one  of  your  letters.” 

He  was  in  that  state  of  weariness,  poor  fellow,  in  which 
a  man  will  do  anything  for  the  sake  of  peace.  Pointing 
to  a  cabinet  in  his  room,  he  gave  me  a  key  taken  from  a 
little  basket  on  his  bed.  “  Look  for  yourself,”  he  said. 
After  some  hesitation — for  I  naturally  recoiled  from  exam¬ 
ining  another  man’s  correspondence  I  decided  on  open¬ 
ing  the  cabinet,  at  any  rate. 

The  letters— a  large  collection— were,  to  my  relief,  all 
neatly  folded  and  endorsed  with  the  names  of  the  writers. 
I  could  run  harmlessly  through  bundle  after  bundle  in 


178 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 

search  of  the  one  name  that  I  wanted,  and  still  respect  the 
privacy  of  the  letters.  My  perseverance  deserved  a  re¬ 
ward — and  failed  to  get  it.  The  name  I  wanted  steadily 
eluded  my  grasp.  Arriving  at  the  upper  shelf  of  the  cab¬ 
inet,  I  found  it  so  high  that  I  could  barely  reach  it  with 
my  hand.  Instead  of  getting  more  letters  to  look  over  I 
pulled  down  two  newspapers. 

One  of  them  was  an  old  copy  of  the  Times,  dating  back 
as  far  as  the  13th  of  December,  1858.  It  was  carefully 
folded  longwise,  with  the  title  page  uppermost.  On  the 
first  column,  at  the  left  hand  side  of  the  sheet,  appeared 
the  customary  announcements  of  births.  A  mark  with  a 
blue  pencil  against  one  of  the  advertisements  attracted 
my  attention.  I  read  these  lines  : 

“  On  the  10th  inst.  the  wife  of  the  Rev.  Abel  Gracedieu, 
of  a  daughter.” 

The  second  newspaper,  bearing  the  same  date,  was  pub¬ 
lished  in  an  English  country  town — no  doubt  the  town  in 
which  Mr.  Gracedieu  was  performing  his  duties  at  the 
time.  The  announcement  of  the  birth  here  was  exactly 
similar  to  the  announcement  in  the  Times  ;  the  name  of 
the  place  in  which  the  child  was  born  being  in  both  cases 
left  out.  I  naturally  assumed  that  the  advertisements  had 
been  inserted  at  the  desire  of  Mrs.  Gracedieu,  and,  after 
all  that  I  had  heard,  there  was  little  difficulty  in  attrib¬ 
uting  the  curious  omission  I  had  noticed  to  the  caution  of 
her  husband.  If  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  (then  Miss  Chance) 
had  happened  to  see  the  advertisement  in  the  great  London 
newspaper,  Mr.  Gracedieu  might  yet  have  good  reason  to 
congratulate  himself  on  his  prudent  method  of  providing 
against  accidents. 

I  turned  toward  the  bed  and  looked  at  him.  His  eyes 
were  closed.  Was  he  sleeping  ?  Or  was  he  trying  to  re¬ 
member  what  he  had  desired  to  say  to  me  when  the  de¬ 
mands  of  my  curiosity  had  obliged  him  to  wait  for  a  later 
opportunity  ? 

Either  way  there  was  something  that  quickened  my 
sympathies  in  the  spectacle  of  his  helpless  repose.  It 
suggested  to  me  personal  reasons  for  his  anxieties  which 
he  had  not  mentioned,  and  which  I  had  not  thought  of, 
up  to  this  time.  If  the  discovery  that  he  dreaded  took 
place  his  household  would  be  broken  up  and  his  position 
as  pastor  would  suffer  in  the  estimation  of  the  flock.  His 
own  daughter  would  refuse  to  live  under  the  same  roof 
with  the  daughter  of  an  infamous  woman.  Popular  opin- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CA/AT. 


179 


ion  among  his  congregation,  judging  a  man  who  had 
passed  off  the  child  of  other  parents  as  his  own,  would  find 
the  man  guilty  of  an  act  of  deliberate  deceit. 

Still  oppressed  by  reflections  which  pointed  to  the  future 
in  this  discouraging  way,  I  was  startled  by  a  A^oice  outside 
the  door — a  sweet,  sad  voice — saying,  “May  I  come  in  ?  ” 

The  minister’s  eyes  opened  instantly  ;  he  raised  himself 
in  his  bed. 

“  Eunice  at  last  !  ”  he  cried.  “  Let  her  in.” 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

I  opened  the  door. 

Eunice  passed  me  with  the  suddenness  almost  of  a  flash 
of  light.  When  I  turned  toward  the  bed  her  arms  were 
round  her  father’s  neck.  “  Oh,  poor  papa,  how  ill  you 
look  !  ”  Commonplace  expressions  of  fondness  and  no 
more,  but  the  tone  gave  them  a  charm  that  subdued  me. 
Never  had  I  felt  so  indulgent  toward  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  un¬ 
reasonable  fears  as  when  I  saw  him  in  the  embrace  of  his 
adopted  daughter.  She  had  already  reminded  me  of  the 
bygone  days  when  a  bright  little  child  had  sat  on  my  knee 
and  listened  to  the  ticking  of  my  watch. 

The  minister  gentlv  lifted  her  head  from  his  breast. 
“  My  darling,”  he  said,  “  you  don’t  see  my  old  friend.  Love 
him  and  look  up  to  him,  Eunice.  He  will  be  your  friend, 
too,  when  I  am  gone.’’ 

She  came  to  me  and  offered  her  cheek  to  be  kissed.  It 
was  sadly  pale,  poor  soul — and  I  could  guess  why.  But 
her  heart  was  now  full  of  her  father.  “  Do  you  think  he  is 
seriously  ill  ?  ”  she  whispered.  What  I  ought  to  have  said 
I  don’t  know.  Her  eyes,  the  sweetest,  the  truest,  loveliest 
eyes  I  ever  saw  in  a  human  face,  were  pleading  with  me. 
Let  my  enemies  make  the  worst  of  it  if  they  like — I  did 
certainly  lie.  And  if  I  deserved  my  punishment  I  got  it  ; 
the  poor  child  believed  me.  “  Now  I  am  happier,”  she  said, 
gratefully.  “  Only  to  hear  your  voice  seems  to  encourage 
me.  On  our  way  here  Selina  did  nothing  but  talk  of  you. 
She  told  me  I  shouldn’t  have  time  to  feel  afraid  of  the  great 
man  ;  he  would  make  me  fond  of  him  directly.  I  said, 

‘  Are  you  fond  of  him  ?  ’  She  said,  ‘  Madly  in  love  with 
him,  my  dear.’  My  little  friend  really  thinks  you  like  her, 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIAT. 


i  So 

and  is  very  proud  of  it.  There  are  some  people  who  call 
her  ugly.  I  hope  you  don’t  agree  with  them  ?  ” 

I  believe  I  should  have  lied  again  if  Mr.  Gracedieu  had 
not  called  me  to  the  bedside. 

“  How  does  she  strike  you  !  ”  he*whispered,  eagerly.  “  Is 
it  too  soon  to  ask  if  she  shows  her  age  in  her  face  ?  ” 

“Neither  in  her  face  nor  her  figure,”  I  answered  ;  “  it 
astonishes  me  that  you  can  ever  have  doubted  it.  No 
stranger,  judging  by  personal  appearance,  could  fail  to 
make  the  mistake  of  thinking  Helena  the  eldest  of  the 
two.” 

He  looked  fondly  at  Eunice.  “  Her  figure  seems  to  bear 
out  what  you  say,”  he  went  on.  “  Almost  childish,  isn’t 
it?” 

I  could  not  agree  to  that.  Slim,  supple,  simply  graceful 
in  every  movement,  Eunice’s  figure,  in  the  charm  of  first 
youth,  still  waited  its  perfect  development.  Most  men, 
looking  at  her  as  she  stood  at  the  other  end  of  the  room 
with  her  back  toward  us,  would  have  guessed  her  age  to 
be  sixteen. 

Finding  that  I  failed  to  agree  with  him,  Mr.  Gracedieu’s 
misgivings  returned.  “You  speak  very  confidently,”  he 
said,  “  considering  that  you  have  not  seen  the  girls  together. 
Think  what  a  dreadful  blow  it  would  be  to  me  if  you  made 
a  mistake.”  • 

I  declared,  with  perfect  sincerity,  that  there  was  no  fear 
of  a  mistake.  The  bare  idea  of  making  the  proposed  com¬ 
parison  was  hateful  to  me.  If  Helena  and  I  had  happened 
to  meet  at  that  moment  I  should  have  turned  away  from 
her  by  instinct — she  would  have  disturbed  my  impressions 
of  Eunice. 

The  minister  signed  to  me  to  move  a  little  nearer  to  him. 
“I  must  say  it,”  he  whispered,  “and  I  am  afraid  of  her 
hearing  me.  Is  there  anything  in  her  face  that  reminds 
you  of  her  miserable  mother  ?  ” 

I  had  hardly  patience  to  answer  the  question  ;  it  was  sim¬ 
ply  preposterous.  Her  hair  was  by  many  shades  darker 
than  her  mother’s  hair  ;  her  eyes  were  a  different  color. 
Ihere  was  an  exquisite  tenderness  and  sincerity  in  their 
expression — made  additionally  beautiful,  to  my  mind,  by 
a  gentle,  uncomplaining  sadness.  It  was  impossible  even 
to  think  of  the  eyes  of  the  murderess  when  I  looked  at  her 
child.  Eunice’s  lower  features,  again,  had  none  of  her 
mother’s  regularity  of  proportion.  Her  smile,  simple  and 
sweet,  and  soon  passing  away,  was  certainly  not  an  inherited 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


181 


Smile  on  the  maternal  side.  Whether  she  resembled  her 
father  I  was  unable  to  conjecture — having  never  seen  him. 
The  one  thing  certain  was  that  not  the  faintest  trace,  in 
feature  or  expression,  of  Eunice’s  mother  was  to  be  seen 
in  Eunice  herself.  Of  the  two  girls  Helena — judging  by 
something  in  the  color  of  her  hair,  and  by  something  in 
the  shade  of  her  complexion — might  possibly  have  sug¬ 
gested,  in  those  particulars  only,  the  accidental  resemblance 
to  my  terrible  prisoner  of  past  times  which  was  totally  ab¬ 
sent  in  the  prisoner’s  own  daughter. 

The  revival  of  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  spirits  indicated  a  tem¬ 
porary  change  only,  and  was  already  beginning  to  pass 
away.  The  eyes  which  had  looked  lovingly  at  Eunice  be¬ 
gan  to  look  languidly  now  ;  his  head  sank  on  the  pillow 
with  a  sigh  of  weak  content.  “My  pleasure  has  been  al¬ 
most  too  much  for  me,”  he  said.  “  Leave  me  for  a  while 
to  rest,  and  get  used  to  it.” 

Eunice  kissed  his  forehead — and  we  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

When  we  stepped  out  on  the  landing  I  observed  that  my 
companion  paused.  She  looked  at  the  two  flights  of  stairs 
below  us  before  she  descended  them.  It  occurred  to  me 
that  there  must  be  somebody  in  the  house  whom  she  was 
anxious  to  avoid. 

Arrived  at  the  lower  hall  she  paused  again  and  proposed 
in  a  whisper  that  we  should  go  into  the  garden.  As  we 
advanced  along  the  backward  division  of  the  hall  I  saw 
her  eyes  turn  distrustfully  toward  the  door  of  the  room  in 
which  Helena  had  received  me.  At  last  my  slow  percep¬ 
tions  felt  with  her  and  understood  her.  Eunice’s  sensitive 
nature  recoiled  from  a  chance  with  the  wretch  who  had 
laid  waste  all  that  had  once  been  happy  and  hopeful  in 
that  harmless  young  life. 

“  Will  you  come  with  me  to  the  part  of  the  garden  that 
I  am  fondest  of  ?  ”  she  asked. 

I  offered  her  my  arm.  She  led  me  in  silence  to  a  rustic 
seat,  placed^ under  the  shade  of  a  mulberry  tree.  I  saw  a 
change  in  her  face  as  we  sat  down — a  tender  and  beauti¬ 
ful  change.  At  that  moment  the  girl’s  heart  was  far  away 
from  me.  There  was  some  association  with  this  corner  of 
the  garden  on  which  I  felt  I  must  not  intrude. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


182 

“  I  was  once  very  happy  here,”  she  said.  “  When  the 
time  of  the  heartache  came  soon  after  I  was  afraid  to  look 
at  the  old  tree  and  the  bench  under  it.  But  that  is  all  over 
now.  I  like  to  remember  the  hours  that  were  once  dear 
to  me  and  to  see  the  place  that  recalls  them.  Do  you 
know  who  I  am  thinking  of  ?  Don’t  be  afraid  of  distress¬ 
ing  me.  I  never  cry  now.” 

“  My  dear  child,  I  have  heard  your  sad  story — but  I  can’t 
trust  myself  to  speak  of  it.” 

“  Because  you  are  so  sorry  for  me  ?  ” 

“  No  words  can  say  how  sorry  I  am  !  ” 

“  But  you  are  not  angry  with  Philip  ?” 

“Not  angry  !  My  poor  dear,  I  am  afraid  to  tell  you  how 
angry  I  am  with  him.” 

“  Oh,  no !  You  mustn’t  say  that.  If  you  wish  to  be  kind 
to  me — and  I  am  sure  you  do  wish  it — don’t  think  bitterly 
of  Philip.” 

When  I  remember  that  the  first  feeling  she  roused  in 
me  was  nothing  worthier  of  a  professing  Christian  than 
astonishment  I  drop  in  my  own  estimation  to  the  level  of 
a  savage.  “  Do  you  really  mean,”  -I  was  base  enough  to 
ask,  “that  you  have  forgiven  him  ?” 

She  said  gently  :  “Plow  could  I  help  forgiving  him  ?  ” 

The  man  who  could  have  been  blessed  with  such  love 
as  this  and  who  could  have  cast  it  away  from  him  can  have 
been  nothing  but  an  idiot.  On  that  ground — though  I 
dare  not  confess  it  to  Eunice — I  forgave  him  too. 

“  Do  I  surprise  you  ?  ”  she  asked,  simply.  “  Perhaps  love 
will  bear  any  humiliation.  Or  perhaps  I  am  only  a  poor 
weak  creature.  You  don’t  know  what  a  comfort  it  was  to 
me  to  keep  the  few  letters  that  I  received  from  Philip. 
When  I  heard  that  he  had  gone  away  I  gave  his  letters  the 
kiss  that  bade  him  good-by.  That  was  the  time,  I  think, 
when  my  poor  bruised  heart  got  used  to  the  pain  ;  I  began 
to  feel  that  there  was  one  consolation  still  left  for  me — I 
might  end  in  forgiving  him.  Why  do  I  tell  you  all  this  ? 
I  think  you  must  have  bewitched  me.  Is  this  really  the 
first  time  I  have  seen  you  ?  ” 

She  put  her  little  trembling  hand  into  mine  ;  I  lifted  it 
to  my  lips  and  kissed  it.  Sorely  was  I  tempted  to  own  that 
I  had  pitied  and  loved  her  in  her  infancy.  It  was  almost 
on  my  lips  to  say  :  “  I  remember  you  an  easily  pleased 
little  creature,  amusing  yourself  with  the  broken  toys  which 
were  once  the  playthings  of  my  own  children.”  I  believe 
I  should  have  said  it  if  I  could  have  trusted  myself  to  speak 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


^3 

composedly  to  her.  This  was  not  to  be  done.  Old  as  I 
was,  versed  as  I  was  in  the  hard  knowledge  of  how  to 
keep  the  mask  on  in  the  hour  of  need,  this  was  not  to  be 
done. 

Still  trying  to  understand  that  I  was  little  better  than  a 
stranger  to  her,  and  still  bent  on  finding  the  secret  of  the 
sympathy  that  united  us,  Eunice  put  a  strange  question 
to  me. 

“When  you  were  young  yourself,”  she  said,  “did  you 
know  what  it  was  to  love  and  to  be  loved — and  then  to 
lose  it  all  ?  ” 

It  is  not  given  to  many  men  to  marry  the  woman  who 
has  been  the  object  of  their  first  love.  My  early  life  has 
been  darkened  by  a  sad  story,  never  confided  to  any  living 
creature  ;  banished  resolutely  from  my  own  thoughts. 
For  forty  years  past  that  part  of  my  buried  self  had  lain 
quiet  in  its  grave — and  the  chance  touch  of  an  innocent 
hand  had  raised  the  dead  and  set  us  face  to  face  again  ! 
Did  I  know  what  it  was  to  love  and  be  loved,  and  then  to 
lose  it  all  ?  “  Too  well,  my  child  ;  too  well  !  ” 

That  was  all  I  could  say  to  her.  In  the  last  days  of  my 
life  I  shrank  from  speaking  of  it.  When  1  had  first  felt 
the  calamity  and  had  felt  it  most  keenly,  I  might  have 
given  an  answer  worthier  of  me  and  worthier  of  her. 

She  dropped  my  hand  and  sat  by  me  in  silence,  thinking. 
Had  I — without  meaning  it,  God  knows  ! — had  I  disap¬ 
pointed  her  ? 

“  Did  you  expect  me  to  tell  my  own  sad  story,  ”  I  said, 
“  as  frankly  and  as  trustfully  as  you  have  told  yours  ?” 

“  Oh,  don’t  think  that !  I  know  what  an  effort  it  was  to 
you  to  answer  me  at  all.  Yes,  indeed  !  I  wonder  whether 
I  may  ask  something.  The  sorrow  you  have  just  told  me 
of  is  not  the  only  one — is  it  ?  You  have  had  other  ones  ?” 

“  Many  of  them.” 

“There  are  times,”  she  went  on,  “when  one  can’t  help 
thinking  of  one’s  own  miserable  self.  I  try  to  be  cheerful, 
but  those  times  come  now  and  then.” 

She  stopped  and  looked  at  me  with  a  pale  fear  confess¬ 
ing  itself  in  her  face. 

“  You  know  who  Selina  is  ?  ”  she  resumed.  “  My  friend  ! 
The  only  friend  I  had  till  you  came  here.” 

I  guessed  that  she  was  speaking  of  the  quaint,  kindly 
little  woman  whose  ugly  surname  had  been  hitherto  the 
only  name  known  to  me. 

(i  Selina  has,  I  dare  say,  told  you  that  I  have  been  ill,” 


184 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


she  continued,  “and  that  I  am  staying  in  the  country  for 
the  benefit  of  my  health  ” 

It  was  plain  that  she  had  something  to  say  to  me  far 
more  important  than  this,  and  that  she  was  dwelling  on 
trifles  to  gain  time  and  courage.  Hoping  to  help  her  I 
dwelt  on  trifles  too,  asking  commonplace  questions  about 
the  part  of  the  country  in  which  she  was  staying.  She  an¬ 
swered  absently,  then,  little  by  little,  impatiently.  The 
one  poor  proof  of  kindness  that  I  could  offer  now  was  to 
say  no  more. 

“Do  you  know  what  a  strange  creature  I  am  ?  ”  she 
broke  out.  “  Shall  I  make  you  angry  with  me  ?  or  shall  I 
make  you  laugh  at  me  ?  What  I  have  shrunk  from  con¬ 
fessing  to  Selina — what  I  dare  not  confess  to  my  father — 
I  must  and  will  confess  to  you  !  ” 

There  was  a  look  of  horror  in  her  face  that  alarmed  me. 
I  drew  her  to  me  so  that  she  could  rest  her  head  on  my 
shoulder.  My  own  agitation  threatened  to  get  the  better 
of  me.  For  the  first  time  since  I  had  seen  this  sweet  girl 
I  found  myself  thinking  of  the  blood  that  ran  in  her  veins 
and  of  the  nature  of  the  mother  who  had  borne  her. 

“  Do  you  recollect  what  happened  up-stairs  ?  ”  she  said. 
“  I  mean  when  we  left  my  father  and  came  out  on  the  land¬ 
ing.” 

It  was  easily  recollected.  I  begged  her  to  go  on. 

“  Before  I  went  down-stairs,”  she  proceeded,  “  you  saw 
me  look  and  listen.  Did  you  think  I  was  afraid  of  meeting 
some  person  ?  and  did  you  guess  who  it  was  I  wanted  to 
avoid  ?  ” 

“  I  guessed  that  and  I  understood  you.” 

“No  !  You  are  not  wicked  enough  to  understand  me. 
Will  you  do  me  a  favor  ?  I  want  you  to  look  at  me.” 

It  was  said  seriously.  She  lifted  her  head  for  a  moment, 
so  that  I  could  examine  her  face.  “Do  you  see  anything,” 
she  asked,  “which  makes  you  fear  that  I  am  not  in  my 
right  mind  ?  ” 

“  Good  God  !  How  can  you  ask  such  a  horrible  ques¬ 
tion?” 

She  laid  her  head  back  on  my  shoulder  with  a  sad  little 
sigh  of  resignation.  “  I  ought  to  have  known  better,”  she 
said  ;  “  there  is  no  such  easy  way  out  of  it  as  that.  Tell 
me,  is  there  one  kind  of  wickedness  more  deceitful  than 
another?  Can  it  lie  hid  in  a  person  for  years  together  and 
show  itself  when  a  time  of  suffering  comes  ?  Did  you  ever 
see  that  when  you  were  master  in  the  prison  ?  " 


The  legacy  of  ca lv.  185 

I  had  seen  it,  and,  after  a  moment’s  doubt,  I  said  I  had 
seen  it.  ' 

“  Did  you  pity  those  poor  wretches  ?” 

“  Certainly  !  They  deserved  pity.” 

“  I  am  one  of  them  !  ”  she  said.  “  Pity  me.  If  Helena 
looks  at  me — if  Helena  speaks  to  me — if  I  only  see 
Helena  by  accident — do  you  know  what  she  does  ?  She 
tempts  me !  Tempts  me  to  do  dreadful  things!  Tempts 

me - ”  The  poor  child  threw  her  arms  round  my  neck 

and  whispered  the  next  fatal  words  in  my  ear. 

The  mother!  Prepared  as  I  was  for  the  accursed  dis¬ 
covery,  the  horror  of  it  shook  me. 

She  left  me  and  started  to  her  feet.  The  inherited 
energy  showed  itself  in  furious  protest  against  the  in¬ 
herited  evil.  “  What  does  it  mean?”  she  cried.  “I’ll 
submit  to  anything.  I’ll  bear  my  hard  lot  patiently,  if  you 
will  only  tell  me  what  it  means.  Where  does  this  horrid 
transformation  of  me  out  of  myself  come  from  ?  Look  at 
my  good  father.  In  all  this  world  there  is  no  man  so  per¬ 
fect  as  he  is.  And  oh,  how  he  has  taught  me  !  There 
isn’t  a  single  good  thing  that  I  have  not  learned  from  him 
since  I  was  a  little  child.  Did  you  ever  hear  him  speak  of 
my  mother  ?  You  must  have  heard  him.  My  mother  was 
an  angel.  I  could  never  be  worthy  of  her  at  my  best — but 
I  have  tried  !  I  have  tried  !  The  wickedest  girl  in  the 
world  doesn’t  have  worse  thoughts  than  the  thoughts  that 
have  come  to  me.  Since  when  ?  Since  Helena — oh,  how 
can  I  call  her  by  her  name  as  if  I  still  loved  her  ?  Since 
my  sister — can  she  be  my  sister  ?  I  ask  myself  sometimes. 
Since  my  enemy — there’s  the  word  for  her — since  my 
enemy  took  Philip  away  from  me.  What  does  it  mean  ? 
I  have  asked  in  my  prayers — and  have  got  no  answer.  I 
ask  you.  What  does  this  mean  ?  You  must  tell  me.  You 
shall  tell  me.  What  does  it  mean  ?  ” 

Why  did  I  not  try  to  calm  her  ?  I  had  vainly  tried  to 
calm  her — I  who  knew  who  her  mother  was  and  what  her 
mother  had  been. 

At  last  she  had  forced  the  sense  of  my  duty  on  me.  In 
mercy  to  her  I  used  the  strong  hand,  and  put  her  back  in 
the  place  by  my  side  that  she  had  left.  It  was  useless  to 
reason  with  her  ;  it  was  impossible  to  answer  her.  I  had 
my  own  idea  of  the  one  way  in  which  it  might  be  possible 
to  charm  Eunice  back  to  her  sweeter  self. 

“  Let  us  talk  of  Philip,”  I  said. 

The  fierce  flush  in  her  face  softened,  the  swelling  trouble 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALM 


i  86 

of  her  bosom  began  to  subside  as  that  dearly  loved  name 
passed  my  lips.  There  was  some  influence  left  in  her 
which  resisted  me.  Her  voice  sank,  but  she  said  the  word  : 

“  No  !  " 

“  Why  not  ?  ” 

“  I  have  lost  all  my  courage.  If  you  talk  to  me  of  Philip 
you  will  make  me  cry.” 

I  drew  her  nearer  to  me.  If  she  had  been  my  own  child 
I  don’t  think  I  could  have  felt  for  her  more  truly  than  I 
felt  at  that  moment.  I  only  looked  at  her  ;  I  only  said  : 

“  Cry  !  ” 

The  love  that  was  in  her  heart  rose,  and  poured  its  ten¬ 
derness  into  her  eyes.  I  had  longed  to  see  the  tears  that 
would  comfort  her.  The  tears  came. 

There  was  silence  between  us  for  awhile.  It  was  possi¬ 
ble  for  me  to  think. 

In  the  absence  of  physical  resemblance  between  parent 
and  child  is  an  unfavorable  influence  exercised  on  the 
tendency  to  moral  resemblance  ?  Assuming  the  possibility 
of  such  a  result  as  this,  Eunice  (entirely  unlike  her  mother) 
must,  as  I  concluded,  have  been  possessed  of  qualities 
formed  to  resist,  as  well  as  of  qualities  doomed  to  undergo, 
the  infection  of  evil.  While,  therefore,  I  resigned  myself 
to  recognize  the  existence  of  the  hereditary  maternal  taint, 
I  firmly  believed  in  the  counterbalancing  influences  for 
good  which  had  been  part  of  the  girl’s  birthright.  They 
had  been  derived,  perhaps,  from  the  better  qualities  in  her 
father’s  nature  ;  they  had  been  certainly  developed  by  the 
tender  care,  the  religious  vigilance  which  had  guarded 
the  adopted  child  so  lovingly  in  the  minister’s  household, 
and  they  had  served  their  purpose  until  time  brought  with 
it  the  change  for  which  the  tranquil  domestic  influences 
were  not  prepared.  With  the  great,  the  vital,  transforma¬ 
tion  which  marks  the  ripening  of  the  girl  into  the  woman’s 
maturity  of  thought  and  passion,  the  new  power  for  good, 
strong  enough  to  resist  the  new  power  for  Evil,  sprang  into 
being,  and  sheltered  Eunice  under  the  supremacy  of  Love. 
Love  ill-fated,  and  ill-bestowed — but  love  that  no  pro¬ 
fanation  could  stain,  that  hereditary  evil  could  conquer — 
the  True  Love  that  had  been,  and  was  and  would  be,  the 
guardian  angel  of  Eunice’s  life. 

Still  absorbed  in  these  speculations,  I  was  disturbed  by 
a  touch  on  the  arm. 

I  looked  up.  Eunice’s  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  shrubbery, 
at  some  distance  from  us,  which  closed  the  view  of  the 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


187 


garden  on  that  side.  I  noticed  that  she  was  trembling. 
Nothing  to  alarm  her  was  visible  that  I  could  discover. 
I  asked  what  she  had  seen  to  startle  her.  She  pointed  to 
the  shrubbery. 

“Look  again,”  she  said. 

This  time  I  saw  a  woman’s  dress  among  the  shrubs. 
The  woman  herself  appeared  in  a  moment  more. 

It  was  Helena.  She  carried  a  small  portfolio,  and  she 
approached  us  with  a  smile. 


CHAPTER  XL I. 

RELATED  BY  THE  GOVERNOR. 

I  looked  at  Eunice.  She  had  risen,  startled  by  her  first 
suspicion  of  the  person  who  was  approaching  us  through 
the  shrubbery  ;  but  she  kept  her  place  near  me,  only 
changing  her  position  so  as  to  avoid  confronting  Helena. 
Her  quickened  breathing  was  all  that  told  me  of  the  effort 
that  she  was  making  to  preserve  her  self-control. 

Entirely  free  from  unbecoming  signs  of  hurry  and  agi¬ 
tation,  Helena  opened  her  business  with  me  by  means  of 
an  apology. 

“  Pray  excuse  me  for  disturbing  you.  I  am  obliged  to 
leave  the  house  on  one  of  my  tiresome  domestic  errands. 
If  you  will  kindly  permit  it  I  wish  to  express,  before  I  go, 
my  very  sincere  regret  for  what  I  was  rude  enough  to  say, 
when  I  last  had  the  honor  of  seeing  you.  May  I  hope  to 
be  forgiven  ?  How-do-you  do,  Eunice  ?  Have  you  en¬ 
joyed  your  holiday  in  the  country  ?  ’’ 

Eunice  neither  moved  nor  answered.  Having  some 
doubt  of  what  might  happen  if  the  two  girls  remained  to¬ 
gether,  I  proposed  to  Helena  to  leave  the  garden  and  to 
let  me  hear  what  she  had  to  say,  in  the  house. 

“  Quite  needless,”  she  replied  ;  “  I  shall  not  detain  you 
for  more  than  a  minute.  Please  look  at  this.” 

She  offered  to  me  the  portfolio  that  she  had  been  carry¬ 
ing,  and  pointed  to  a  morsel  of  paper  attached  to  it,  which 
contained  this  inscription  :  “  Philip’s  Letters  To  Me.  Pri¬ 
vate.  Helena  Gracedieu.” 

“  I  have  a  favor  10  ask,”  she  said,  “  and  a  proof  of  con¬ 
fidence  in  you  to  offer.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  look 
over  what  you  find  in  my  portfolio  ?  I  am  unwilling  to 


THE  LEGACY  OE  CAIN. 


1 88 

give  up  the  hopes  that  I  had  founded  on  our  interview, 
when  I  asked  for  it.  The  letters  will,  I  venture  to  think, 
plead  my  cause  more  convincingly  than  I  was  able  to  plead 
it  for  myself.  I  wish  to  forget  what  passed  between  us,  to 
the  last  word.  To  the  last  word,”  she  repeated,  emphati¬ 
cally — with  a  look  which  sufficiently  informed  me  that  I 
had  not  been  betrayed  to  her  father  yet.  “Will  you  in¬ 
dulge  me  ?  ”  she  asked,  and  offered  her  portfolio  for  the 
second  time. 

A  more  impudent  bargain  could  not  well  have  been  pro¬ 
posed  to  me. 

I  was  to  read,  and  to  be  favorably  impressed  by,  Mr. 
Philip  Dunboyne’s  letters  ;  and  Miss  Helena  was  to  say 
nothing  of  that  unlucky  slip  of  the  tongue,  relating  to  her 
mother,  which  she  had  discovered  to  be  a  serious  act  of 
self-betrayal — thanks  to  my  confusion  at  the  time.  If  I  had 
not  thought  of  Eunice,  and  of  the  desolate  and  loveless 
life  to  which  the  poor  girl  was  so  patiently  resigned,  I 
should  have  refused  to  read  Miss  Gracedieu’s  love-let¬ 
ters. 

But,  as  things  were,  I  was  influenced  by  the  hope  (inno¬ 
cently  encouraged  by  Eunice  herself)  that  Philip  Dun- 
boyne  might  not  be  so  wholly  unworthy  of  the  sweet  girl 
whom  he  had  injured,  as  I  had  hitherto  been  disposed  to 
believe.  To  act  on  this  view  with  the  purpose  of  promot¬ 
ing  a  reconciliation,  was  impossible  unless  I  had  the  means 
of  forming  a  correct  estimate  of  the  man’s  character.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  had  found  the  means.  A  fair  chance 
of  putting  his  sincerity  to  a  trustworthy  test,  was  surely 
offered  by  the  letters  (the  confidential  letters)  which  I  had 
been  requested  to  read.  To  feel  this  as  strongly  as  I  felt 
it,  brought  me  at  once  to  a  decision.  I  consented  to  take 
the  portfolio — on  my  own  conditions. 

“  Understand,  Miss  Helena,”  I  said,  “  that  I  make  no 
promises.  I  reserve  my  own  opinion,  and  my  own  right  of 
action.” 

“  I  am  not  afraid  of  your  opinions  or  your  actions,”  she 
answered,  confidently,  “  if  you  will  only  read  the  letters. 
In  the  meantime,  let  me  relieve  my  sister,  there,  of  my 
presence.  I  hope  you  will  soon  recover,  Eunice,  in  the 
country  air.” 

If  the  object  of  the  wretch  was  to  exasperate  her  victim, 
she  had  completely  failed.  Eunice  remained  as  still  as  a 
statue.  To  all  appearance,  she  had  not  even  heard  what 
had  been  said  to  her.  Helena  looked  at  me,  and  touched 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, 


189 


her  forehead  with  a  significant  smile.  “  Sad,  isn’t  it  ?  ”  she 
said — andvbowed,  and  went  briskly  away  on  her  household 
errand. 

We  were  alone  again. 

Still,  Eunice  never  moved.  I  spoke  to  her,  and  produced 
no  impression.  Beginning  to  feel  alarmed,  I  tried  the  ef- 
feet  of  touching  her.  With  a  wild  cry,  she  started  into  a 
state  of  animation.  Almost  at  the  same  moment,  she 
weakly  swayed  to  and  fro  as  if  the  pleasant  breeze  in  the 
garden  moved  her  at  its  will,  like  the  flowers.  I  held  her 
up,  and  led  her  to  the  seat. 

“There  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,”  I  said.  “She  has 
gone.” 

Eunice’s  eyes  rested  on  me  in  vacant  surprise. 

“  How  do  you  know  ?  ”  she  asked.  “  I  hear  her  ;  but  I 
never  see  her.  Do  you  see  her  ?  ” 

“  My  dear  child  !  of  what  person  are  you  speaking  ?” 

She  answered  :  “  Of  no  person.  I  am  speaking  of  a 
Voice  that  whispers  and  tempts  me,  when  Helena  is  near.” 

“  What  voice,  Eunice  ?  ” 

“The  whispering  Voice.  It  called  me  Daughter  when 
I  first  heard  it.  My  father  speaks — he  has  spoken,  I  dare 
say,  to  you — of  my  mother,  the  angel.  That  good  spirit 
has  never  come  to  me  from  the  better  world.  It  is  a 
mock-mother  who  comes  to  me — some  spirit  of  evil. 
Listen  to  this.  I  was  awake  in  my  bed.  In  the  dark  I 
heard  the  mock-mother  whispering,  close  at  my  ear.  Shall 
I  tell  you  what  she  said  ?  She  said  :  ‘I  am  your  mother.’ 
Oh,  I  heard  it !  I  remember  how  1  longed  for  light  to  see 
her  by  ;  I  prayed  to  her  to  show  herself  to  me.  She  said ; 
*  My  face  was  hidden  when  I  passed  from  life  to  death; 
my  face  no  mortal  creature  may  see.’  I  have  never  seen 
her — how  can  you  have  seen  her?  But  I  heard  her  again, 
just  now.  She  whispered  to  me  when  Helena  was  stand¬ 
ing  there — where  you  are  standing.  She  freezes  the  life 
in  me.  Did  she  freeze  the  life  in  you  ?  Did  you  hear  her 
tempting  me  ?  Don’t  speak  of  it,  if  you  did.  Oh,  not  a 
word  !  not  a  word  !  ” 

A  man  who  has  governed  a  prison  may  say  with  Mac¬ 
beth,  “I  have  supped  full  with  horrors.”  Hardened  as  I 
was_or  ought  to  have  been — the  effect  of  what  I  had  just 
heard  turned  me  cold.  If  I  had  not  known  it  to  be  abso¬ 
lutely  impossible,  I  might  have  believed  that  the  crime  and 
the  death  of  the  murderess  were  known  to  Eunice,  as  be¬ 
ing  the  crime  and  the  death  of  her  mother,  and  that  the 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


i  go 

horrid  discovery  had  turned  her  brain.  This  was  simply 
impossible.  What  did  it  mean  ?  Good  God  !  what  did  it 
mean  ? 

My  sense  of  my  own  helplessness  was  the  first  sense  in 
me  that  recovered.  I  thought  of  Eunice’s  devoted  little 
friend.  A  woman’s  sympathy  seemed  to  be  needed  now. 
I  rose  to  lead  the  wav  out  of  the  garden. 

“ Selina  will  think  we  are  lost,”  I  said.  “Let us  go  and 
find  Selina.” 

“  Not  for  the  world  !  ”  she  cried. 

“Why  not?” 

“Because  I  don’t  feel  sure  of  myself.  I  might  tell  Se¬ 
lina  something  which  she  must  never  know  ;  I  should  be 
so  sorry  to  frighten  her.  Let  me  stop  here  with  you.” 

I  resumed  my  place  at  her  side. 

“  Let  me  take  your  hand.” 

I  gave  her  my  hand.  What  composing  influence  this 
simple  act  may,  or  may  not,  have  exercised,  it  is  impos¬ 
sible  to  say.  She  was  quiet,  she  was  silent.  After  an  in¬ 
terval,  I  heard  her  breathe  a  long-drawn  sigh  of  relief. 

“  I  am  afraid  I  have  surprised  you,”  she  said.  “Helena 

brings  the  dreadful  time  back  to  me - She  stopped, 

and  shuddered. 

“  Don’t  speak  of  Helena,  my  dear.” 

“  But  I  am  afraid  you  will  think — because  I  have  said 
strange  things — that  I  have  been  talking  at  random,”  she 
insisted.  “  The  Doctor  will  say  that,  if  you  meet  with 
him.  He  believes  I  am  deluded  by  a  dream.  I  tried  to 
think  so  myself.  It  was  of  no  use  ;  I  am  quite  sure  he  is 
wrong.” 

I  privately  determined  to  watch  for  the  Doctor’s  ar¬ 
rival,  and  to  consult  with  him.  Eunice  went  on  : 

“  I  have  the  story  of  a  terrible  night  to  tell  you  ;  but  I 
haven’t  the  courage  to  tell  it  now.  Why  shouldn’t  you 
come  back  with  me  to  the  place  that  I  am  staying  at — a 
pleasant  farm-house,  and  such  kind  people.  You  might 
read  the  account  of  that  night  in  my  journal.  I  shall  not 
regret  the  misery  of  having  written  it,  if  it  helps  you  to 
find  out  how  this  hateful  second  self  of  mine  has  come  to 
me.  Hush  !  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  Do  you  think 
Helena  is  in  the  house  ?” 

“  No — she  has  gone  out.” 

“  Did  she  say  that  herself  ?  Are  you  sure  ?  ” 

“  Quite  sure.” 

She  decided  on  going  back  to  the  farm,  while  Helena 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAUL. 


igt 


was  out  of  the  way.  We  left  the  garden  together.  For 
the  first  time,  my  companion  noticed  the  portfolio.  I  hap¬ 
pened  to  be  carrying  it  in  the  hand  that  was  nearest  to  her, 
as  she  walked  by  my  side. 

Where  did  you  get  that  ?  ”  she  asked. 

It  was  needless  to  reply  in  words.  My  hesitation  spoke 
for  me. 

“  Carry  it  in  your  other  hand,”  she  said — “  the  hand  that’s 
farthest  away  from  me.  I  don’t  want  to  see  it  !  Do  you 
mind  waiting  a  moment  while  I  find  Selina  ?  You  will  go 
to  the  farm  with  us,  won’t  you  ?  ” 

I  had  to  look  over  the  letters,  in  Eunice’s  own  interests  ; 
and  I  begged  her  to  let  me  defer  my  visit  to  the  farm  until 
the  next  day.  She  consented,  after  making  me  promise 
to  keep  my  appointment.  It  was  of  some  importance  to 
her,  she  told  me,  that  I  should  make  acquaintance  with  the 
farmer  and  his  wife  and  children,  and  tell  how  I  liked 
them.  Her  plans  for  the  future  depended  on  what  those 
good  people  might  be  willing  to  do.  When  she  had  re¬ 
covered  her  health  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  go  home 
acrain,  while  Helena  remained  in  the  house.  She  had  re- 
solved  to  earn  her  own  living,  if  she  could  get  employment 
as  a  governess.  The  farmer’s  children  liked  her  ;  she  had 
already  helped  their  mother  in  teaching  them  ;  and  there 
was  reason  to  hope  that  their  father  would  see  his  way  to 
employing  her  permanently.  His  house  offered  the  great 
advantage  of  being  near  enough  to  the  town  to  enable 
her  to  hear  news  of  the  Minister’s  progress  toward  re¬ 
covery,  and  to  see  him  herself  when  safe  opportunities  of¬ 
fered,  from  time  to  time.  As  for  her  salary,  what  did  she 
care  about  money?  Anything  would  be  acceptable,  if  the 
good  man  would  only  realize  her  hopes  for  the  future. 

It  was  disheartening  to  hear  that  hope,  at  her  age,  began 
and  ended  within  such  narrow  limits  as  these.  No,  pru¬ 
dent  man  would  have  tried  to  persuade  her,  as  I  now  did, 
that  the  idea  of  reconciliation  offered  the  better  hope  of 
the  two. 

“Suppose  I  see  Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne  when  I  go  back 
to  London,”  I  began,  “  what  shall  I  say  to  him  ?  ” 

“  Say  I  have  forgiven  him.” 

“  And  suppose,”  I  went  on,  “  that  the  blame  really  rests, 
where  you  all  believe  it  to  rest,  with  Helena.  If  that  young 
man  returns  to  you,  truly  ashamed  of  himself,  truly  peni¬ 
tent,  will  you - ?  ” 

She  resolutely  interrupted  me  :  “  No  !  ” 


192 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, 


“  Oh,  Eunice,  you  surely  mean  Yes  ?  ” 

“  I  mean  No!” 

“  Why  ?  ” 

"  Don’t  ask  me  !  Good-by  till  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XLlI. 

No  person  came  to  my  room,  and  nothing  happened  to 
interrupt  me  while  I  was  reading  Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne’s 
letters* 

One  of  them,  let  me  say  at  once,  produced  a  very  disa* 
greeable  impression  on  me.  I  have  unexpectedly  discov* 
ered  Mrs.  Tenbruggen — in  a  postscript*  She  is  making  a 
living  as  a  Medical  Rubber  (or  Masseuse),  and  is  in  pro¬ 
fessional  attendance  on  Mr*  Dunboyne  the  elder.  More  of 
this,  a  little  farther  on. 

Having  gone  through  the  whole  collection  of  young 
Dunboyne’s  letters,  I  set  myself  to  review  the  differing 
conclusions  which  the  Correspondence  has  produced  on 
my  mind. 

I  call  the  papers  submitted  to  me  a  correspondence,  be¬ 
cause  the  greater  part  of  Philip’s  letters  exhibit  notes  in 
pencil,  evidently  added  by  Helena.  These  express,  for 
the  most  part,  the  interpretation  which  she  had  placed  on 
passages  that  perplexed  or  displeased  her  ;  and  they  have, 
as  Philip’s  rejoinders  show,  been  employed  as  materials 
when  she  wrote  her  replies. 

On  reflection,  I  find  myself  troubled  by  complexities  and 
contradictions  in  the  view  presented  of  this  young  man’s 
character.  To  decide  positively  whether  I  can  justify  to 
myself  and  to  my  regard  for  Eunice,  an  attempt  to  reunite 
the  lpvers,  requires  more  time  for  consideration  than  I  can 
reasonably  expect  that  Helena’s  patience  will  allow.  Hav¬ 
ing  a  quiet  hour  or  two  still  before  me,  I  have  determined 
to  make  extracts  from  the  letters  for  my  own  use  ;  with  the 
intention  of  referring  to  them,  while  I  am  still  in  doubt 
which  way  my  decision  ought  to  incline.  I  shall  present 
them  here,  to  speak  for  themselves.  Is  there  any  objec¬ 
tion  to  this  ?  None  that  I  can  see. 

In  the  first  place,  these  extracts  have  a  value  of  their 
own.  They  add  necessary  information  to  the  present  his¬ 
tory  of  events. 

In  the  second  place,  I  am  under  110  obligation  to  Mr. 


THE  LEGACY  OE  CALM 


193 


Gracedieu’s  daughter  which  forbids  me  to  make  use  of 
her  portfolio.  I  told  her  that  I  only  consented  to  re¬ 
ceive  it,  under  reserve  of  my  own  right  of  action — and 
her  assent  to  that  stipulation  was  expressed  in  the  clear¬ 
est  terms. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  MR.  PHILIP  DUNBOYNE’s  LETTERS. 

1. 

You  blame  me,  dear  Helena,  for  not  having  paid  proper 
attention  to  the  questions  put  to  me  in  your  last  letter.  I 
have  only  been  waiting  to  make  up  my  mind,  before  I  re¬ 
plied. 

First  question  :  Do  I  think  it  advisable  that  you  should 
write  to  my  father  ?  No,  my  dear  ;  I  beg  you  will  defer 
writing,  until  you  hear  from  me  again. 

Second  question  :  Considering  that  he  is  still  a  stranger 
to  you,  is  there  any  harm  in  your  asking  me  what  sort  of  a 
man  my  father  is?  No  harm,  my  sweet  one  ;  but,  as  you 
will  presently  see,  I  am  afraid  you  have  addressed  your¬ 
self  to  the  wrong  man. 

My  father  is  kind,  in  his  own  odd  way — and  learned,  and 
rich — a  more  high-minded  and  honorable  man  (as  I  have 
every  reason  to  believe)  doesn’t  live.  But  if  you  ask  me 
which  he  prefers,  his  books  or  his  son,  I  do  him  no  injus¬ 
tice  when  I  answer,  his  books.  His  reading  and  his  writing 
are  obstacles  between  us  which  I  have  never  been  able  to 
overcome.  This  is  the  more  to  be  regretted  because  he  is 
charming,  on  the  few  occasions  when  I  find  him  disengaged. 
If  you  wish  I  knew  more  about  my  father,  we  are  in  com¬ 
plete  agreement  as  usual — I  wish,  too. 

But  there  is  a  dear  friend  of  yours  and  mine,  who  is 
just  the  person  we  want  to  help  us.  Need  I  say  that  I  al¬ 
lude  to  Mrs.  Staveley  ? 

I  called  on  her  yesterday,  not  long  after  she  had  paid  a 
visit  to  my  father.  Luck  had  favored  her.  She  arrived 
just  at  the  time  when  hunger  had  obliged  him  to  shut  up 
his  books,  and  ring  for  something  to  eat.  Mrs.  Staveley 
secured  a  favorabfe  reception  with  her  customary  tact  and 
delicacy.  He  had  a  fowl  for  his  dinner.  She  knows  his 
weakness  of  old  ;  she  volunteered  to  carve  it  for  him. 

If  I  can  only  repeat  what  this  clever  woman  told  me  of 
their  talk,  you  will  have  a  portrait  of  Mr.  Dunboyne  the 
elder— not  perhaps  a  highly-finished  picture,  but,  as  I  hope 
and  believe,  a  good  likeness. 

13 


194 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


Mrs.  Staveley  began  by  complaining  to  him  of  the  con¬ 
duct  of  his  son.  I  had  promised  to  write  to  her,  and  I  had 
never  kept  my  word.  She  had  reasons  for  being  especially 
interested  in  my  plans  and  prospects,  just  then  :  knowing 
me  to  be  attached  (please  take  notice  that  I  am  quoting 
her  own  language)  to  a  charming  friend  of  hers,  whom  I 
had  first  met  at  her  house.  To  aggravate  the  disappoint¬ 
ment  that  I  had  inflicted,  the  young  lady  had  neglected  her 
too.  No  letters,  no  information.  Perhaps  my  fatherwould 
kindly  enlighten  her  ?  Was  the  affair  going  on  ?  or  was  it 
broken  off  ? 

My  father  held  out  his  plate  and  asked  for  the  other 
wing  of  the  fowl.  “  It  isn’t  a  bad  one  for  London,”  he 
said  ;  “  won’t  you  have  some  yourself  ?  ” 

“  I  don’t  seem  to  have  interested  you,”  Mrs.  Staveley  re¬ 
marked. 

“  What  did  you  expect  me  to  be  interested  in  ?  ”  my 
father  inquired.  “  I  was  absorbed  in  the  fowl.  Favor  me 
by  returning  to  the  subject.” 

Mrs.  Staveley  admits  that  she  answered  this  rather 
sharply:  “The  subject,  sir,  was  your  son’s  admiration  for 
a  charming  girl ;  one  of  the  daughters  of  Mr.  Gracedieu, 
the  famous  preacher.” 

My  father  is  too  well-bred  to  speak  to  a  lady  while  his 
attention  is  absorbed  by  a  fowl.  He  finished  the  second 
wing,  and  then  he  asked  if  “  Philip  was  engaged  to  be 
married  ?  ” 

“  I  am  not  quite  sure,”  Mr.  Staveley  confessed. 

“  Then,  my  dear  friend,  we  will  wait  till  we  are  sure.” 

“  But,  Mr.  Dunboyne,  there  is  really  no  need  to  wait. 
I  suppose  your  son  comes  here,  now  and  then,  to  see 
you  ?  ” 

“  My  son  is  most  attentive.  In  course  of  time  he  will 
contrive  to  hit  on  the  right  hour  for  his  visit.  At  present, 
poor  fellow,  he  interrupts  me  every  day.” 

“  Suppose  he  hits  upon  the  right  time  to-morrow  ?  ” 

“Yes?” 

“  You  might  ask  him  if  he  is  engaged  ?  ” 

“  Pardon  me.  I  think  I  might  wait  till  Philip  mentions 
it  without  asking.” 

“What  an  extraordinary  man  you  are  !  ” 

“Oh,  no,  no — only  a  philosopher.” 

This  tried  Mrs.  Staveley’s  temper.  You  know  what  a  per¬ 
fectly  candid  person  our  friend  is.  She  owned  to  me  that 
she  felt  inclined  to  make  herself  disagreeable.  “That’s 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


J95 


thrown  away  upon  me,”  she  said  :  “I  don’t  know  what  a 
philosopher  is.” 

Let  me  pause  for  a  moment,  dear  Helena.  I  have  inex¬ 
cusably  forgotten  to  speak  of  my  father’s  personal  appear¬ 
ance.  It  won’t  take  long.  I  need  only  notice  one  inter¬ 
esting  feature  which,  so  to  speak,  lifts  his  face  out  of  the 
common.  He  has  an  eloquent  nose.  Persons  possessing 
this  rare  advantage  are  blest  with  powers  of  expression 
not  granted  to  their  ordinary  fellow-creatures.  My  father’s 
nose  is  a  mine  of  information  to  friends  familiarly  ac¬ 
quainted  with  it.  It  changes  color  like  a  modest  young 
lady’s  cheek.  It  works  flexibly  from  side  to  side  like  the 
rudder  of  a  ship.  On  the  present  occasion,  Mrs.  Staveley 
saw  it  shift  toward  the  left  hand  side  of  his  face.  A  sigh 
escaped  the  poor  lady.  Experience  told  her  that  my  father 
was  going  to  hold  forth. 

“You  don’t  know  what  a  philosopher  is  ?”  he  repeated. 
“Be  so  kind  as  to  look  at  Me.  I  am  a  philosopher.” 

Mrs.  Staveley  bowed. 

“And  a  philosopher,  my  charming  friend,  is  a  man  who 
has  discovered  a  system  of  life.  Some  systems  assert  them¬ 
selves  in  volumes — my  system  asserts  itself  in  two  words  : 
Never  think  of  anything  until  you  have  first  asked  your¬ 
self  if  there  is  an  absolute  necessity  for  doing  it  at  that 
particular  moment.  Thinking  of  things,  when  things 
needn’t  be  thought  of,  is  offering  an  opportunity  to  Worry  ; 
and  Worry  is  the  favorite  agent  of  Death,  when  the  des¬ 
troyer  handles  his  work  in  a  lingering  way,  and  achieves 
premature  results.  Never  look  back,  and  never  look  for¬ 
ward,  as  long  as  you  can  possibly  help  it.  Looking  back 
leads  the  way  to  sorrow.  And  looking  forward  ends  in 
the  cruellest  of  all  delusions  :  it  encourages  hope.  The 
present  time  is  the  precious  time.  Live  for  the  passing 
day;  the  passing  day  is  all  that  we  can  be  sure  of.  You 
suggested,  just  now,  that  I  should  ask  my  son  if  he  was  en¬ 
gaged  to  be  married.  How  do  we  know  what  wear  and 
tear  of  your  nervous  texture  I  succeeded  in  saving  when  I 
said  :  ‘  Wait  till  Philip  mentions  it  without  asking  ?  ’  There 
is  the  personal  application  of  my  system.  I  have  explained 
it  in  my  time  to  every  woman  on  the  list  of  my  acquaint¬ 
ance,  including  the  female  servants.  Not  one  of  them  has 
rewarded  me  by  adopting  my  system.  How  do  you  feel 
about  it  ?  ” 

Mrs.  Staveley  declined  to  say  whether  she  had  offered 
a  bright  example  of  gratitude  to  the  rest  of  the  sex.  When 


196 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


I  asked  why,  she  declared  that  it  was  my  turn  now  to  tell 
her  what  I  had  been  doing. 

You  will  anticipate  what  followed.  She  objected  to  the 
mystery  in  which  my  prospects  seemed  to  be  involved. 
In  plain  English,  was  I,  or  was  I  not,  engaged  to  marry 
her  dear  Eunice.  I  said,  No.  What  else  could  I  say  ?  If 
I  had  told  Mrs.  Staveley  the  truth,  when  she  insisted  on 
my  explaining  myself,  she  would  have  gone  back  to  my 
father,  and  would  have  appealed  to  his  sense  of  justice  to 
forbid  our  marriage.  Finding  me  obstinately  silent,  she 
has  decided  on  writing  to  Eunice.  So  we  parted.  But 
don’t  be  disheartened.  On  my  way  out  of  the  house,  I  met 
Mr.  Staveley  coming  in,  and  had  a  little  talk  with  him. 
He  and  his  wile  and  his  family  are  going  to  the  seaside, 
next  week.  Mrs.  Staveley  once  out  of  our  way,  I  can  tell 
my  father  of  our  engagement  without  any  fear  of  conse¬ 
quences.  If  she  writes  to  him,  the  moment  he  sees  my 
name  mentioned,  and  finds  violent  language  associated  with 
it,  he  will  hand  the  letter  to  me.  “  Your  business,  Philip  ; 
don’t  interrupt  me.”  He  will  say  that,  and  go  back  to  his 
books.  There  is  my  father,  painted  to  the  life  !  Farewell, 
for  the  present. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

Remarks  by  H .  G. — Philip’s  grace  and  gayety  of  style 
might  be  envied  by  any  professional  author.  He  amuses 
me,  but  he  rouses  my  suspicion  at  the  same  time.  This 
slippery  lover  of  mine  tells  me  to  defer  writing  to  his 
father,  and  gives  no  reason  for  offering  that  strange  advice 
to  the  young  lady  who  is  soon  to  be  a  member  of  the  fam¬ 
ily.  Is  this  merely  one  more  instance  of  the  weakness  of 
his  character  ?  Or,  now  that  he  is  away  from  my  influence, 
is  he  beginning  to  regret  Eunice  already  ? 

Added  by  the  Gover?ior. — I  too  have  my  doubts.  Is  the 
flippant  nonsense  which  Philip  has  written,  inspired  by  the 
effervescent  good  spirits  of  a  happy  young  man  ?  Or  is  it 
assumed  for  a  purpose  ?  In  this  latter  case,  I  should  gladly 
conclude  that  he  was  regarding  his  conduct  to  Eunice 
with  becoming  emotions  of  sorrow  and  shame. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


x97 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

My  next  quotations  will  suffer  a  process  of  abridgement. 
I  intend  them  to  present  the  substance  of  three  letters,  re¬ 
duced  as  follows  : 

2. 

Weak  as  he  may  be,  Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne  shows  (in  his 
second  letter)  that  he  can  feel  resentment,  and  that  he  can 
express  his  feelings,  in  replying  to  Miss  Helena.  He  pro¬ 
tests  against  suspicions  which  he  has  not  deserved.  That 
he  does  sometimes  think  of  Eunice  he  sees  no  reason  to 
deny.  He  is  conscious  of  errors  and  misdeeds,  which — 
traceable  as  they  are  to  Helena’s  irresistible  fascinations 
— may  perhaps  be  considered  rather  his  misfortune  than 
his  fault.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  does  indeed  feel  anxious 
to  hear  good  accounts  of  Eunice’s  health.  If  this  honest 
avowal  excites  her  sister’s  jealousy,  he  will  be  disappointed 
in  Helena  for  the  first  time. 

The  third  letter  shows  that  this  exhibition  of  spirit  has 
had  its  effect. 

His  imperious  young  lady  regrets  that  she  has  hurt  his 
feelings,  and  is  rewarded  for  the  apology  by  receiving 
news  of  the  most  gratifying  kind.  Faithful  Philip  has 
told  his  father  that  he  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  Miss 
Helena  Gracedieu,  daughter  of  the  celebrated  Wesleyan 
preacher — and  so  on,  and  so  on.  Has  Mr.  Dunboyne  the 
elder  expressed  any  objection  to  the  young  lady  ?  Cer¬ 
tainly  not  !  He  merely  objects,  on  principle,  to  looking 
forward.  “How  do  we  know,”  says  the  philosopher, 
“  what  accidents  may  happen  or  what  doubts  and  hesita¬ 
tions  may  yet  turn  up  ?  I  am  not  to  burden  my  mind  in 
this  matter,  till  I  know  that  I  must  do  it.  Let  me  hear 
when  she  is  ready  to  go  to  church,  and  I  will  be  ready 
with  the  settlements.  My  compliments  to  Miss  and  her 
Papa,  and  let  us  wait  a  little.”  Dearest  Helena,  isn’t  he 
funny  ? 

The  fourth  letter  has  been  already  mentioned. 

In  this  there  occurs  the  first  startling  reference  to  Mrs. 
Tenbruggen,  by  name.  She  is  in  London,  finding  her 
way  to  lucrative  celebrity  by  twisting,  turning,  and  pinch¬ 
ing  the  flesh  of  credulous  persons  afflicted  with  nervous 
disorders  ;  and  she  has  already  paid  a  few  medical  visits 


198 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


to  old  Mr.  Dunboyne.  He  persists  in  poring  over  his 
books  while  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  operates,  sometimes  on  his 
cramped  right  hand,  sometimes  (in  the  fear  that  his  brain 
may  have  something  to  do  with  it)  on  the  back  of  his  neck. 
One  of  them  frowns  over  her  rubbing,  and  the  other 
frowns  over  his  reading.  It  would  be  delightfully  ridicu¬ 
lous,  but  for  a  drawback  :  Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne’s  first  im¬ 
pressions  of  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  do  not  incline  him  to  look 
at  that  lady  from  a  humorous  point  of  view. 

Helena’s  remarks  appear  again  on  these  letters.  She 
feels  not  quite  sure  of  Philip,  even  yet.  No  more  do  I. 

3 

The  fifth  letter  must  be  permitted  to  speak  for  itself  : — 

I  have  flown  into  a  passion,  dearest  Helena  ;  and  I  am 
afraid  I  shall  make  you  fly  into  a  passion  too.  Blame  Mrs. 
Tenbruggen  ;  don’t  blame  me. 

On  the  first  occasion  when  I  found  my  father  under  the 
hands  of  the  Medical  Rubber,  she  took  no  notice  of  me. 
On  the  second  occasion — when  she  had  been  in  daily  at¬ 
tendance  on  him  for  a  week,  at  an  exorbitant  fee — she  said, 
in  the  coolest  manner  :  “  Who  is  this  young  gentleman  ?  ” 

My  father  laid  down  his  book,  for  a  moment  only  :  “  Don’t 

interrupt  me  again,  ma’am.  The  young  gentleman  is  my 
son  Philip.”  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  eyed  me  with  an  appear¬ 
ance  of  interest  which  I  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for.  I 
hate  an  impudent  woman.  My  visit  came  suddenly  to  an 
end. 

The  next  time  I  saw  my  father,  he  was  alone. 

I  asked  him  how  he  got  on  with  Mrs.  Tenbruggen.  As 
badly  as  possible,  it  appeared.  “She  takes  liberties  with 
my  neck  ;  she  interrupts  me  in  my  reading  ;  and  she  does 
me  no  good.  I  shall  end,  Philip,  in  applying  a  medical 
rubbing  to  Mrs.  Tenbruggen.” 

A  few  days  later,  I  found  the  masterful  “Masseuse  ”  tor¬ 
turing  the  poor  old  gentleman’s  muscles  again.  She  had 
the  audacity  to  say  to  me  :  “  Well,  Mr.  Philip,  when  are 
you  going  to  marry  Miss  Eunice  Gracedieu  ?”  My  father 
looked  up.  “Eunice?”  he  repeated.  “When  my  son 
told  me  he  was  engaged  to  Miss  Gracedieu,  he  said  ‘  Hel¬ 
ena  !  ’  Philip,  what  does  this  mean  ?  ”  Mrs.  Tenbruggen 
was  so  obliging  as  to  answer  for  me.  “  Some  mistake,  sir  ; 
it’s  Eunice  he  is  engaged  to.”  I  confess  I  forgot  myself. 
“  How  the  devil  do  you  know  that  ?  ”  I  burst  out.  Mrs. 
Tenbruggen  ignored  me  and  my  language.  “  I  am  sorry 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


199 


to  see,  sir,  that  your  son’s  education  has  been  neglected  ; 
he  seems  to  be  grossly  ignorant  of  the  laws  of  politeness. 

“  Never  mind  the  laws  of  politeness,”  says  my  father. 
“You  appear  to  be  better  acquainted  with  my  son’s  mat¬ 
rimonial  prospects  than  he  is  himself.  How  is  that?” 
Mrs.  Tenbruggen  favored  him  with  another  ready  reply  : 
“  My  authority  is  a  letter,  addressed  to  me  by  a  relative  of 
Mr.  Gracedieu — my  dear  and  intimate  friend,  Miss  J ill- 
gall.”  My  father’s  keen  eyes  travelled  backward  and  for¬ 
ward  between  his  female  surgeon  and  his  son.  “Which 
am  I  to  believe  ?  ”  he  inquired.  “  I  am  surprised,  at  your 
asking  the  question,”  I  said.  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  pointed 
to  me.  “  Look  at  Mr.  Philip,  sir — and  you  will  allow  him 
one  merit.  He  is  capable  of  showing  it,  when  he  knows 
he  has  disgraced  himself.”  Without  intending  it,  I  am 
sure,  my  father  infuriated  me  ;  he  looked  as  if  he  believed 
her.  Out  came  one  of  the  smallest  and  strongest  words 
in  the  English  language,  before  I  could  stop  it  :  “Mrs. 
Tenbruggen,  you  lie  !  ”  The  illustrious  Rubber  dropped 
my  father’s  hand — she  had  been  operating  on  him  all  the 
time — and  showed  us  that  she  could  assert  her  dignity 
when  circumstances  called  for  the  exertion  :  “  Either  your 
son  or  I,  sir,  must  leave  the  room.  Which  is  it  to  be  ?  ” 
She  met  her  match  in  my  father.  Walking  quietly  to  the 
door,  he  opened  it  for  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  with  a  low  bow. 
She  stopped  on  her  way  out,  and  delivered  her  parting 
words  :  “  Messieurs  Dunboyne,  father  and  son,  I  have  but 
one  thing  to  say.  Nobody  has  ever  yet  insulted  me  with¬ 
out  having  reason,  sooner  or  later,  to  regret  it.  In  the 
meantime  I  keep  my  temper,  and  merely  regard  you  as  a 
couple  of  blackguards.”  With  that  pretty  assertion  of  her 
opinion,  she  left  us. 

When  we  were  alone,  there  was  but  one  course  to  take  ; 
I  made  my  confession.  It  is  impossible  to  tell  you  how 
my  father  received  it — for  he  sat  down  at  his  library  table 
with  his  back  to  me.  The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  ask 
me  to  help  his  memory. 

“  Did  you  say  that  the  father  of  these  girls  was  a  par- 
son  ? 

“Yes — a  Wesleyan  Minister.” 

“  What  does  the  Minister  think  of  you  ?  ” 

“I  don’t  know,  sir.”' 

“  Find  out.” 

That  was  all ;  not  another  word  could  I  extract  from  him. 
I  don’t  pretend  to  have  discovered  what  he  really  has  in 


200 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAItf. 


his  mind.  I  only  venture  on  a  suggestion.  If  there  is 
any  old  friend  in  your  town,  who  has  any  influence  over 
your  father,  leave  no  means  untried  of  getting  that  friend 
to  say  a  kind  word  for  us.  And  then  ask  your  father  to 
write  to  mine.  This  is,  as  I  see  it,  our  only  chance. 


There  the  letter  ends.  Helena’s  notes  on  it  show  that 
her  pride  is  fiercely  interested  in  securing  Philip  as  a  hus¬ 
band.  Her  victory  over  poor  Eunice  will,  as  she  plainly 
intimates,  be  only  complete  when  she  is  married  to  young 
Dunboyne.  For  the  rest,  her  desperate  resolution  to  win 
her  way  to  my  good  graces  is  sufficiently  intelligible,  now. 

My  own  impressions,  derived  from  the  fifth  letter,  vary. 
Philip  rather  gains  upon  me  ;  he  appears  to  have  some 
capacity  for  feeling  ashamed  of  himself.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  regard  the  discovery  of  an  intimate  friendship  ex¬ 
isting  between  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  and  Miss  Jillgall,  with 
the  gloomiest  views.  Is  this  formidable  Masseuse  likely 
to  ply  her  trade  in  the  country  towns  ?  And  is  it  possible 
that  she  may  come  to  this  town  ?  God  forbid ! 

Of  the  other  letters  in  the  collection,  I  need  take  no 
special  notice  in  this  place.  The  one  recent  event  in  Mr. 
Gracedieu’s  family,  worthy  of  record,  is  of  a  melancholy 
nature.  After  paying  his  visit  to-day,  the  Doctor  has  left 
word  that  nobody  but  the  nurse  is  to  go  near  the  Minister. 
This  seems  to  indicate,  but  too  surely,  a  change  for  the 
worse. 

Helena  has  been  away  all  the  evening  at  the  Girls’ 
School.  She  left  a  little  note,  informing  me  of  her  wishes  : 
“  I  shall  expect  to  be  favored  with  your  decision  to-morrow 
morning,  in  my  house-keeping  room.” 

At  breakfast  time,  the  report  of  the  poor  Minister  was 
still  discouraging.  I  noticed  that  Helena  was  absent  from 
the  table.  Miss  Jillgall  suspected  that  the  cause  was  bad 
news  from  Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne,  arriving  by  that  morn¬ 
ing’s  post.  “  If  you  will  excuse  the  use  of  strong  language 
by  a  lady,”  she  said,  “  Helena  looked  perfectly  devilish 
when  she  opened  the  letter.  She  rushed  away,  and  locked 
herself  up  in  her  own  shabby  room.  Cheering,  isn’t  it?” 
As  usual,  good  Selina  expressed  her  sentiments  without 
reserve. 

I  had  to  keep  my  appointment  ;  and  the  sooner  Heletra 
Gracedieu  and  I  understood  each  other  the  better. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, \ 


201 


I  knocked  at  the  door.  It  was  loudly  unlocked,  and 
violently  thrown  open.  Helena’s  temper  had  risen  to 
boiling  heat  ;  she  stammered  with  rage  when  she  spoke 
to  me. 

“  Have  you  read  Philip’s  letters  ?  ” 

“  Yes.” 

“  May  we  count  on  your  influence  to  help  us  ?  I  want 
a  positive  answer.” 

I  gave  her  what  she  wanted.  I  said  :  “  Certainly  not.” 

She  took  a  letter  from  her  pocket,  opened  it,  and 
smoothed  it  out  on  the  table  with  a  blow  of  her  open 
hand. 

“  Look  at  that,”  she  said. 

I  looked.  It  was  the  letter  addressed  to  Mr.  Dunbovne 
the  elder,  which  I  had  written  for  Mr.  Gracedieu  ;  with 
the  one  object  of  preventing  Helena’s  marriage. 

“Of  course,  I  can  depend  on  you  to  tell  me  the  truth  ?’’ 
she  continued. 

“Without  fear  or  favor,  Miss  Helena,  you  may  depend 
on  that.” 

“The  signature  to  the  letter,  Mr.  Governor,  is  written 
by  my  father.  '  But  the  letter  itself  is  in  a  different  hand. 
Do  you,  by  any  chance,  recognize  the  writing  ?  ” 

“I  do.” 

“  Whose  writing  is  it  ?  ” 

“Mine.” 


CHAPTER  XL IV. 

RELATED  BY  THE  GOVERNOR. 

After  having  identified  my  hand-writing,  I  waited  with 
some  curiosity  to  see  whether  Helena  would  let  her  anger 
honestly  show  itself,  or  whether  she  would  keep  it  down. 
Her  hand  trembled  as  she  took  up  the  letter  from  the 
table  ;  the  expression  of  her  brilliant  eyes  hardened  until 
they  looked  absolutely  hideous— but  she  kept  it  down. 

“  Allow  me  to  return  good  for  evil.”  (The  evil  was  up¬ 
permost,  nevertheless,  when  Miss  Gracedieu  expressed 
herself  in  these  self-denying  terms.)  “You  are  no  doubt 
anxious  to  know  if  Philip’s  father  has  been  won  over  to 
serve  your  purpose.  There  is  Philip’s  own  account  of  it ; 
the  last  of  his  letters  that  I  shall  trouble  you  to  read.” 

I  looked  it  over. 


202 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, \ 


An  eccentric  philosopher  is  as  capable  as  the  most 
commonplace  human  being  in  existence  of  behaving  like 
an  honorable  man.  Mr.  Dunboyne  read  the  letter  which 
bore  the  Minister’s  signature,  and  handed  it  to  his  son. 
“  Can  you  answer  that  ?”  was  all  he  said.  Philip’s  silence 
confessed  that  he  was  unable  to  answer  it — and  Philip  him¬ 
self,  I  may  add,  rose  accordingly  in  my  estimation.  His 
father  pointed  to  the  writing-desk.  “  I  must  spare  my 
cramped  hand,”  the  philosopher  resumed,  “and  I  must 
answer  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  letter.  Write,  and  leave  a  place 
for  my  signature.”  He  began  to  dictate  his  reply.  “  Sir, 
— My  son  Philip  has  seen  your  letter,  and  has  no  defence 
to  make.  In  this  respect  he  has  set  a  good  example,  which 
I  propose  to  follow.  There  is  no  excuse  for  him.  What 
I  can  do  to  show  that  I  feel  for  you,  and  agree  with  you, 
shall  be  done.  At  the  age  which  this  young  man  has 
reached,  the  laws  of  England  abolish  the  authority  of  his 
father.  If  he  is  sufficiently  infatuated  to  place  his  honor 
and  his  happiness  at  the  mercy  of  a  lady  who  has  behaved 
to  her  sister  as  your  daughter  has  behaved  to  Miss  Eunice, 
I  warn  the  married  couple  not  to  expect  a  farthing  of  my 
money,  either  during  my  lifetime  or  after  my  death.  Your 
faithful  servant,  Dunboyne,  Senior.”  Having  performed 
his  duty  as  secretary,  Philip  received  his  dismissal  :  “You 
may  send  my  reply  to  the  post,”  his  father  said  ;  “and  you 
may  keep  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  letter.  Morally  speaking,  I  re¬ 
gard  this  last  document  as  a  species  of  mirror,  in  which  a 
young  gentleman  like  yourself  may  see  how  ugly  he  looks.” 
This,  Philip  declared,  was  his  father’s  form  of  farewell, 
literally  reported.  He  also  considerately  enclosed  the  cor¬ 
respondence — that  is  to  say,  the  original  letter  composed 
by  me,  and  signed  by  the  Minister,  and  a  copy  of  Mr.  Dun- 
boyne’s  reply.  “  What  we  are  to  do  next,”  the  helpless 
lover  confessed,  “  is,  I  deeply  regret  to  say,  more  than  I 
can  tell  you.  Affectionately  yours,  P.” 

I  handed  back  to  Helena  the  letter  and  the  enclosures. 
Not  a  word  passed  between  us.  In  sinister  silence  she 
opened  the  door  and  left  me  alone  in  the  room. 

That  Mrs.  Gracedieu  and  I  had  met  in  the  bygone  time, 
and — this  was  the  only  serious  part  of  it — had  met  in  se¬ 
cret,  would  now  be  made  known  to  the  Minister.  Was  I 
to  blame  for  having  shrunk  from  distressing  my  good 
friend,  by  telling  him  that  his  wife  had  privately  consulted 
me  on  the  means  of  removing  his  adopted  child  from  his 
house  ?  And,  even  if  I  had  been  cruel  enough  to  do  this, 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


203 

would  lie  have  believed  my  statement  against  the  positive 
denial  with  which  the  woman  whom  he  loved  and  trusted 
would  have  certainly  met  it  ?  No!  let  the  consequences 
of  the  coming  disclosure  be  what  they  might,  1  failed  to 
see  any  valid  reason  for  regretting  my  conduct  in  the  past 
time. 

I  found  Miss  Jillgall  waiting  in  the  passage  to  see  me 
come  out. 

“  Helena  frightens  me,”  she  said.  “  I  met  her  on  her 
way  up-stairs.  Oh,  dear  sir,  what  dreadful  thing  have  you 
done  ?  ” 

I  told  her  how  Mr.  Dunboyne  had  answered  the  Min¬ 
ister’s  letter,  and  how  I  had  been  discovered  as  the  writer 
of  it.  No  characteristic  outbreak  of  rejoicing  over  the 
obstacle  to  Philip’s  marriage  followed  on  this  occasion. 
The  little  woman  trembled  as  she  confided  her  fears  to  me 
in  a  whisper.  Helena  was  bent  on  revenge.  Had  I  any 
idea  of  what  she  would  do  ? 

I  availed  myself  of  Mr.  Dunboyne’s  system  of  philosophy, 
and  only  answered  :  “  Let  us  wait,  and  see.” 

There  was  a  sharp  ring  of  the  bell  at  the  house  door. 

Miss  Jillgall  informed  me  that  it  was  only  the  doctor. 
I  told  her  I  was  anxious  to  speak  to  him  on  the  subject  of 
Mr.  Gracedieu’s  health.  She  introduced  me  to  Mr.  Well- 
wood,  as  an  old  and  dear  friend  of  the  Minister, ‘and  left 
us  together  in  the  dining-room.  T  was  disappointed  in  the 
doctor.  His  face  was  lumpish  ;  his  clothes  were  badly 
made  ;  his  big  hands  looked  as  if  they  had  been  employed 
in  manual  labor,  at  some  former  time.  I  had  often  seen 
such  a  man,  in  the  streets,  superintending  workmen  em¬ 
ployed  on  building  a  house. 

“  What  do  I  think  of  Mr.  Gracedieu  ?  ”  he  said,  repeat¬ 
ing  the  first  question  that  I  put.  “Well,  sir,  I  think  badly 
of  him.” 

Entering  into  details,  after  that  ominous  reply,  Mr. 
Wellwood  did  not  hesitate  to  say  that  his  patient’s  nerves 
were  completely  shattered.  Disease  of  the  brain  had,  as 
he  feared,  been 'already  set  up.  “As  to  the  causes  which 
have  produced  this  lamentable  break-down,”  the  doctor 
continued,  “  they  seem  to  me  to  be  plain  enough.  Re¬ 
member  that  Mr.  Gracedieu  doesn’t  read  his  sermons  from 
manuscript.  He  has-been  in  the  habit  of  preaching  ex¬ 
tempore,  twice  a  day  on  Sundays,  and  sometimes  in  the 
week  as  well.  If  you  have  ever  attended  his  chapel,  you 
have  seen  a  man  in  a  state  of  fiery  enthusiasm,  feeling  in- 


204 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


tensely  every  word  that  he  utters.  Think  of  such  exhaus¬ 
tion  as  that  implies  going  on  for  years  together,  and  ac¬ 
cumulating  its  wasting  influences  on  a  sensitively-organized 
constitution.  Add  that  he  is  tormented  by  personal  anx¬ 
ieties.  I  don’t  know,  and  don’t  wish  to  know,  what  they 
are  ;  a  doctor’s  duty,  as  I  understand  it,  is  to  keep  strictly 
within  his  professional  limits.  I  only  allude  to  Mr. 
Gracedieu’s  anxieties  because  they  have  largely  increased 
the  mischief — and  the  sum  of  it  all  is  that  a  worse  case  of 
its  kind,  I  am  truly  grieved  to  say,  has  never  occurred  in 
my  experience.” 

Was  it  possible  that  I  had  been  foolish  enough  to  form 
an  unfavorable  opinion  of  this  man,  merely  because  his 
personal  appearance  had  failed  to  please  me  ?  It  would 
have  been  a  relief  to  my  feelings  to  have  begged  his  par¬ 
don,  if  I  could  have  ventured  to  confess  how  rashly  I  had 
judged  him.  Before  he  left  me  to  go  to  his  patient,  I 
asked  leave  to  occupy  a  minute  more  of  his  time.  My 
object  was,  of  course,  to  speak  about  Eunice. 

The  change  of  subject  seemed  to  be  agreeable  to  Mr. 
Wellwood.  He  smiled  good-humoredly. 

“  You  need  feel  no  alarm  about  the  health  of  that  in¬ 
teresting  girl,”  he  said.  “  When  she  complained  tome — 
at  her  age  ! — of  not  being  able  to  sleep,  I  should  have 
taken  it  more  seriously,  if  I  had  been  told  that  she  too  had 
her  troubles,  poor  little  soul.  Love-troubles  most  likely — 
but  don’t  forget  that  my  professional  limits  keep  me  in  the 
dark  !  Have  you  heard  that  she  took  some  composing 
medicine,  which  I  had  prescribed  for  her  father  ?  The 
effect  (certain,  in  any  case,  to  be  injurious  to  a  young  girl) 
was  considerably  aggravated  by  the  state  of  her  mind  at 
the  time.  A  dream  that  frightened  her,  and  something 
resembling  delirium,  seems  to  have  followed.  And  she 
made  matters  worse,  poor  child,  by  writing  in  her  diary 
about  the  visions  and  supernatural  appearances  that  had 
terrified  her.  I  was  afraid  of  fever  on  the  day  when  they 
first  sent  for  me.  We  escaped  that  complication,  and  I 
was  at  liberty  to  try  the  best  of  all  remedies — quiet  and 
change  of  air*  I  have  no  fears  for  Miss  Eunice.” 

With  that  cheering  reply  he  went  up  to  the  Minister’s 
room. 

All  that  I  had  found  perplexing  in  Eunice  was  now  made 
clear.  I  understood  how  her  agony  at  the  loss  of  her 
lover,  and  her  keen  sense  of  the  wrong  that  she  had  suffered, 
had  been  strengthened  in  their  disastrous  influence  by  her 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN.  205 

experiment  on  the  sleeping  draught  intended  for  her  father. 
In  mind  and  body,  both,  the  poor  girl  was  in  the  condition 
which  offered  its  opportunity  to  the  lurking  hereditary 
taint.  Could  the  education  of  which  Mr.  Gracedieu  was 
so  proud,  could  the  abstract  ideas  which  it  is  the  office  of 
morality  to  instil,  have  saved  that  suffering  young  creature 
from  sinking  under  trial  and  temptation  that  were  mys¬ 
teries  to  her?  No  !  Women  act  on  personal  impressions, 
and  on  the  motive  of  the  moment.  Teachers  and  books 
mean  well,  but  can  never  be  their  best  friends.  Their  one 
invincible  ally,  when  defeat  threatens  them  in  the  battle 
of  life,  is  woman’s  guardian  angel — Love. 

I  had  not  been  long  alone  when  the  servant-maid  came 
and  said  the  doctor  wanted  to  see  me. 

Mr.  Wellwood  was  waiting  in  the  passage,  outside  the 
Minister’s  bedchamber.  He  asked  if  he  could  speak  to 
me,  without  interruption,  and  without  the  fear  of  being 
overheard.  I  led  him  at  once  to  the  room  which  I  occupied 
as  a  guest. 

“At  the  very  time  when  it  is  most  important  to  keep 
Mr.  Gracedieu  quiet,”  he  said,  “  something  has  happened 
to  excite — I  might  almost  say  to  infuriate  him.  He  has 
left  his  bed,  and  is  walking  up  and  down  the  room  ;  and, 
I  don’t  scruple  to  say,  he  is  on  the  verge  of  madness.  He 
insists  on  seeing  you.  Being  wholly  unable  to  control  him 
in  any  other  way,  I  have  consented  to  this.  But  I  must 
not  allow  you  to  place  yourself  in  what  may  be  a  dis¬ 
agreeable  position,  without  a  word  of  warning.  Judging 
by  his  tones  and  his  looks,  he  seems  to  have  no  very 
friendly  motive  for  wishing  to  see  you.” 

Knowing  perfectly  well  what  had  happened,  and  being 
one  of  those  impatient  people  who  can  never  endure  sus¬ 
pense,  I  offered  to  go  at  once  to  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  room. 
The  doctor  asked  leave  to  say  one  word  more. 

“  Pray  be  careful  that  you  neither  say  nor  do  anything 
to  thwart  him,”  Mr.  Wellwood  resumed.  “If  lie  expresses 
an  opinion,  agree  with  him.  If  he  is  insolent  and  over¬ 
bearing,  don’t  answer  him.  In  the  state  of  his  brain  the 
one  hopeful  course  to  take  is  to  let  him  have  his  own  way. 
Pray  remember  that.  I  will  be  within  call,  in  case  of  your 
wanting  me,” 


2o6 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALM 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

I  knocked  at  the  bedroom  door. 

“  Who’s  there  ?  ” 

Only  two  words — but  the  voice  that  uttered  them,  hoarse 
and  peremptory,  was  altered  almost  beyond  recognition. 
If  I  had  not  known  whose  room  it  was,  I  might  have 
doubted  whether  the  Minister  had  really  spoken  to  me. 

At  the  instant  when  I  answered  him,  I  was  allowed  to 
pass  in.  Having  admitted  me,  he  closed  the  door,  and 
placed  himself  with  his  back  against  it.  The  customary 
pallor  of  his  face  had  darkened  to  a  deep  red  ;  there  was 
an  expression  of  ferocious  mockery  in  his  eyes.  Helena’s 
vengeance  had  hurt  her  unhappy  father  far  more  severely 
than  it  seemed  likely  to  hurt  me.  The  doctor  had  said  he 
was  on  the  verge  of  madness.  To  my  thinking,  he  had 
already  passed  the  boundary  line. 

He  received  me  with  a  boisterous  affectation  of  cor¬ 
diality. 

“  My  excellent  friend  !  My  admirable,  honorable,  wel¬ 
come  guest,  you  don’t  know  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you. 
Stand  a  little  nearer  to  the  light ;  I  want  to  admire  you.” 

Remembering  the  doctor’s  advice,  I  obeyed  him  in  si¬ 
lence. 

“  Ah,  you  were  a  handsome  fellow  when  I  first  knew 
you,”  he  said  ;  “  and  you  have  some  remains  of  it  still  left. 
Do  you  remember  the  time  when  you  were  a  favorite  with 
the  ladies  ?  Oh,  don’t  pretend  to  be  modest  ;  don’t  turn 
your  back,  now  you  are  old,  on  what  you  were  in  the  prime 
of  your  life.  Do  you  own  that  I  am  right  ?” 

What  his  object  might  be  in  saying  this — if,  indeed,  he 
had  an  object — it  was  impossible  to  guess.  The  doctor’s 
advice  left  me  no  alternative  ;  I  hastened  to  own  that  he 
was  right.  As  I  made  that  answer,  I  observed  that  he  held 
something  in  his  hand  which  was  half  hidden  up  the  sleeve 
of  his  dressing-gown.  What  the  nature  of  the  object  was, 
I  failed  to  discover. 

“  And  when  I  happened  to  speak  of  you  somewhere,” 
he  went  on,  “  I  forget  where — a  member  of  my  congrega¬ 
tion — I  don’t  recollect  who  it  was — told  me  you  were  con¬ 
nected  with  the  aristocracy.  How  were  you  connected  ?” 

He  surprised  me  ;  but,  however  he  had  got  his  informa¬ 
tion,  he  had  not  been  deceived.  I  told  him  that  I  was 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, \ 


207 


connected,  through  my  mother,  with  the  family  to  which 
he  had  alluded. 

“  The  aristocracy  !  ”  he  repeated.  “  A  race  of  people 
who  are  rich,  without  earning  their  money,  and  noble  be¬ 
cause  their  great-grandfathers  were  noble  before  them. 
They  live  in  idleness  and  luxury— profligates  who  gratify 
their  passions  without  shame  and  without  remorse.  Deny, 
if  you  dare,  that  this  is  a  true  description  of  them.” 

It  was  really  pitiable.  Heartily  sorry  for  him,  I  pacified 
him  again. 

“  And  don’t  suppose  I  forget  that  you  are  one  of  them. 
Do  you  hear  me,  my  noble  friend  ?” 

There  was  no  help  for  it — I  made  another  conciliatory 
reply. 

“So  far,”  he  resumed,  “I  don’t  complain  of  you.  You 
have  not  attempted  to  deceive  me — yet.  Absolute  silence 
is  what  I  require  next.  Though  you  may  not  suspect  it, 
my  mind  is  in  a  ferment ;  I  must  try  to  think.” 

To  some  extent,  at  least,  his  thoughts  betrayed  them¬ 
selves  in  his  actions.  He  put  the  object  that  I  had  dis¬ 
covered  in  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  his  dressing-gown, 
and  moved  to  the  toilet  table.  Opening  one  of  the  drawers, 
he  took  from  it  a  folded  sheet  of  paper,  and  came  back 
to  me. 

“A  minister  of  the  Gospel,”  he  said,  “is  a  sacred  man, 
and  has  a  horror  of  crime.  You  are  safe,  so  far — provided 
you  obey  me.  I  have  a  solemn  and  terrible  duty  to  per¬ 
form.  This  is  not  the  right  place  for  it.  Follow  me  down¬ 
stairs.” 

He  led  the  way  out.  The  doctor,  waiting  in  the  pas¬ 
sage,  was  not  near  the  stairs,  and  so  escaped  notice. 
“What  is  it?”  Mr.  Wellwood  whispered.  In  the  same 
guarded  way,  I  said  :  “  He  has  not  told  me  yet  ;  I  have 
been  careful  not  to  irritate  him.”  When  we  descended 
the  stairs,  the  doctor  followed  us  at  a  safe  distance.  He 
mended  his  pace  when  the  Minister  opened  the  door  of 
the  study,  and  when  he  saw  us  both  pass  in.  Before  he 
could  follow,  the  door  was  closed  and  locked  in  his  face. 
Mr.  Gracedieu  took  out  the  key  and  threw  it,  through  the 
open  window,  into  the  garden  below. 

Turning  back  into  the  room,  he  laid  the  folded  sheet  of 
paper  on  the  table.  That  done,  he  spoke  to  me. 

“  I  distrust  my  own  weakness,”  he  said.  “  A  dreadful 
necessity  confronts  me — I  might  shrink  from  the  horrid  or¬ 
deal,  and,  if  I  could  open  the  door,  might  try  to  get  away. 


2o8 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CA/AT. 


Escape  is  impossible  now.  We  are  prisoners  together. 
But  don’t  suppose  that  we  are  alone.  There  is  a  third  per¬ 
son  present,  who  will  judge  between  you  and  me.  Look 
there  !  ” 

He  pointed  solemnly  to  the  portrait  of  his  wife.  It  was 
a  small  picture,  very  simply  framed  ;  representing  the  face 
in  a  “three-quarter”  view,  and  part  of  the  figure  only. 
As  a  work  of  art  it  was  contemptible  ;  but,  as  a  likeness, 
it  answered  its  purpose.  My  unhappy  friend  stood  before 
it,  in  an  attitude  of  dejection,  covering  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

In  the  interval  of  silence  that  followed,  I  was  reminded 
that  an  unseen  friend  was  keeping  watch  outside. 

Alarmed  by  having  heard  the  key  turned  in  the  lock, 
and  realizing  the  embarrassment  of  the  position  in  which  I 
was  placed,  the  doctor  had  discovered  a  discreet  way  of 
communicating  with  me.  He  slipped  one  of  his  visiting 
cards  under  the  door,  with  these  words  written  on  it  : 
“  How  can  I  help  you  ?  ” 

I  took  the  pencil  from  my  pocket-book  and  wrote  on 
the  blank  side  of  the  card  ;  “  He  has  thrown  the  key  into 
the  garden  ;  look  for  it  under  the  window.”  A  glance  at 
the  Minister,  before  I  returned  my  reply,  showed  that  his 
attitude  was  unchanged.  Without  being  seen  or  suspect¬ 
ed,  I,  in  my  turn,  slipped  the  card  under  the  door. 

The  slow  minutes  followed  each  other — and  still  noth¬ 
ing  happened. 

My  anxiety  to  see  how  the  doctor’s  search  for  the  key 
was  succeeding,  tempted  me  to  approach  the  window.  On 
my  way  to  it,  the  tail  of  my  coat  threw  down  a  little  tray 
containing  pens  and  pencils,  which  had  been  left  close  to 
the  edge  of  the  table.  Slight  as  the  noise  of  the  fall  was, 
it  disturbed  Mr.  Gracedieu.  He  looked  round  vacantly. 

“  I  have  been  comforted  by  prayer,”  he  told  me.  ”  The 
weakness  of  poor  humanity  has  found  strength  in  the 
Lord.”  He  pointed  to  the  portrait  once  more.  “  My 
hands  must  not  presume  to  touch  it,  while  I  am  still  in 
doubt.  Take  it  down.” 

I  removed  the  picture  and  placed  it,  by  his  directions, 
on  a  chair  that  stood  midway  between  us.  To  my  sur¬ 
prise  his  tones  faltered  ;  I  saw  tears  rising  in  his  eyes. 
“You  may  think  you  see  a  picture  there,”  he  said.  “You 
are  wrong.  You  see  my  wife  herself.  Stand  here,  and 
look  at  her  with  me.” 

We  stood  together,  with  our  eyes  fixed  on  the  portrait. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, 


209 


Without  anything  said  or  done  on  my  part  to  irritate 
him,  he  suddenly  turned  to  me  in  a  state  of  furious  rage. 
“  Not  a  sign  of  sorrow  ?”  he  burst  out.  “  Not  a  blush  of 
shame  !  Wretch,  you  stand  condemned  by  the  atrocious 
composure  that  I  see  in  your  face  !  ” 

A  first  discovery  of  the  odious  suspicion  of  which  I  was 
the  object,  dawned  on  my  mind  at  that  moment.  My  ca¬ 
pacity  for  restraining  myself  completely  failed  me.  I 
spoke  to  him  as  if  he  had  been  an  accountable  being. 
“Once  for  all,”  I  said,  “tell  me  what  I  have  a  right  to 
know.  You  suspect  me  of  something.  What  is  it  ?” 

Instead  of  directly  replying,  he  seized  my  arm,  and  led 
me  to  the  table.  “  Take  up  that  paper,”  he  said.  “There 
is  writing  on  it.  Read — and  let  Her  judge  between  us. 
Your  life  depends  on  how  you  answer  me.” 

Was  there  a  weapon  concealed  in  the  room  ?  or  had  he 
got  it  in  the  pocket  of  his  dressing-gown  ?  I  listened  for 
the  sound  of  the  doctor’s  returning  footsteps  in  the  pas¬ 
sage  outside,  and  heard  nothing.  My  life  had  once  de¬ 
pended,  years  since,  on  my  success  in  heading  the  arrest 
of  an  escaped  prisoner.  I  was  not  conscious,  then,  of  feel¬ 
ing  my  energies  weakened  by  fear.  But  that  man  was  not 
mad  ;  and  I  was  younger,  in  those  days,  by  a  good  twenty 
years  or  more.  At  my  later  time  of  life  I  could  show  my 
old  friend  that  I  was  not  afraid  of  him — but  I  was  con¬ 
scious  of  an  effort  in  doing  it. 

I  opened  the  paper.  “Am  I  to  read  this  to  myself?”  I 
asked,  “or  am  I  to  read  it  aloud?” 

“  Read  it  aloud  !  ” 

In  these  terms,  his  daughter  addressed  him  : 

“I  have  been  so  unfortunate,  dearest  father,  as  to  dis¬ 
please  you,  and  I  dare  not  hope  that  you  will  consent  to 
receive  me.  What  it  is  my  painful  duty  to  tell  you,  must 
be  told  in  writing. 

“  Grieved  as  I  am  to  distress  you,  in  your  present  state 
of  health,  I  must  not  hesitate  to  reveal  what  it  has  been 
my  misfortune — I  may  even  say  my  misery,  when  I  think 
of  my  mother — to  discover. 

“  But  let  me  make  sure,  in  such  a  serious  matter  as  this 
is,  that  I  am  not  mistaken. 

“In  those  happy  past  days,  when  I  was  still  dear  to  my 
father,  you  said  you  thought  of  writing  to  invite  a  dearly- 
valued  friend  to  pay  a  visit  to  this  house.  You  had  first 
known  him,  as  I  understood,  when  my  mother  was  still 

H 


210 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


living.  Many  interesting  things  you  told  me  about  this 
old  friend,  but  you  never  mentioned  that  he  knew,  or  that 
he  had  even  seen,  my  mother.  I  was  left  to  suppose  that 
those  two  had  remained  strangers  to  each  other  to  the  day 
of  her  death. 

“  If  there  is  any  misinterpretation  here  of  what  you  said, 
or  perhaps  of  what  you  meant  to  say,  pray  destroy  what  I 
have  written  without  turning  to  the  next  page  ;  and  for¬ 
give  me  for  having  innocently  startled  you  by  a  false 
alarm.” 


Mr.  Gracedieu  interrupted  me. 

“  Put  it  down  !  ”  he  cried  ;  “  I  won’t  wait  till  you  have 
got  to  the  end — I  shall  question  you  now.  Give  me  the 
paper  ;  it  will  help  me  to  keep  this  mystery  of  iniquity 
clear  in  my  own  mind.” 

I  gave  him  the  paper. 

He  hesitated — and  looked  at  the  portrait  once  more. 
“Turn  her  away  from  me,”  he  said;  “  I  can’t  face  my  wife.” 

I  placed  the  picture  with  its  back  to  him. 

He  consulted  the  paper,  reading  it  with  but  little  of  the 
confusion  and  hesitation  which  my  experience  of  him  had 
induced  me  to  anticipate.  Had  the  mad  excitement  that 
possessed  him  exercised  an  influence  in  clearing  his  mind, 
resembling  in  some  degree  the  influence  exercised  by  a 
storm  in  clearing  the  air  ?  Whatever  the  right  explana¬ 
tion  may  be,  I  can  only  report  what  I  saw.  I  could  hardly 
have  mastered  what  his  daughter  had  written  more  readily, 
if  I  had  been  reading  it  myself. 

“  Helena  tells  me,”  he  began,  “  that  you  said  you  knew 
her  by  her  likeness  to  her  mother.  Is  that  true  ?  ” 

“Quite  true.” 

“  And  you  made  an  excuse  for  leaving  her — see !  here 
it  is,  written  down.  You  made  an  excuse,  and  left  her 
when  she  asked  for  an  explanation.” 

“  I  did.” 

He  consulted  the  paper  again. 

“  My  daughter  says — No  !  I  won’t  be  hurried  and  I  won’t 
be  interrupted — she  says  you  were  confused.  Is  that  so  ?  ” 

“It  is  so.  Let  your  questions  wait  for  a  moment.  I 
wish  to  tell  you  why  I  was  confused.” 

“  Haven’t  I  said  I  won’t  be  interrupted  ?  Do  you  think 
you  can  shake  my  resolution  ?  ”  He  referred  to  the  paper 
again.  “  I  have  lost  the  place,  It’s  your  fault — find  it  for 


211 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 

The  evidence  which  was  intended  to  convict  me  was  the 
evidence  which  I  was  expected  to  find  !  I  pointed  it  out 
to  him. 

His  natural  courtesy  asserted  itself  in  spite  of  his  anger. 
He  said  “  Thank  you,”  and  questioned  me  the  moment 
after  as  fiercely  as  ever.  “Go  back  to  the  time,  sir,  when 
we  met  in  your  rooms  at  the  prison.  Did  you  know  my 
wife  then  ?  ” 

“  Certainly  not.” 

“  Did  you  and  she  see  each  other — ha  !  I’ve  got  it  now 
— did  you  see  each  other  after  I  had  left  the  town  ?  No 
prevarication  !  You  own  to  telling  Helena  that  you  knew 
her  by  her  likeness  to  her  mother.  You  must  have  seen 
her  mother.  Where  ?  ” 

I  made  another  effort  to  defend  myself.  He  again  re¬ 
fused  furiously  to  hear  me.  It  was  useless  to  persist. 
Whatever  the  danger  that  threatened  me  might  be,  the 
sooner  it  showed  itself  the  easier  I  should  feel.  I  told 
him  that  Mrs.  Gracedieu  had  called  on  me,  after  he  had 
been  appointed  to  a  new  circuit. 

“Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,”  he  cried,  “that  She  came  to 
You  ?  ” 

“  I  do.” 

After  that  answer,  he  no  longer  required  the  paper  to 
help  him.  He  threw  it  from  him  on  the  floor. 

“And  you  received  her,”  he  said,  “without  inquiring 
whether  I  knew  of  her  visit  or  not.  Guilty  deception  on 
your  part — guilty  deception  on  her  part.  Oh,  the  hideous 
wickedness  of  it  !  ” 

When  his  mad  suspicion  that  I  had  been  his  wife’s 
lover  betrayed  itself  in  this  way,  I  made  a  last  attempt,  in 
the  face  of  my  own  conviction  that  it  was  hopeless  to 
place  my  conduct  and  his  wife’s  conduct  before  him  in  the 
true  light. 

“  Mrs.  Gracedieu’s  object  was  to  consult  me — ”  Before 
I  could  say  the  next  words,  I  saw  him  put  his  hand  into 
the  pocket  of  his  dressing-gown. 

“An  innocent  man,”  he  sternly  declared,  “would  have 
told  me  that  my  wife  had  been  to  see  him— you  kept  it  a 
secret.  An  innocent  woman  would  have  given  me  a  rea¬ 
son  for  wishing  to  go  to  you — she  kept  it  a  secret,  when 
she  left  my  house  ;  she  kept  it  a  secret  when  she  came 
back.” 

“  Mr.  Gracedieu,  I  insist  on  being  heard  !  Your  wife’s 
motive - ” 


212 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


He  drew  from  his  pocket  the  thing  that  he  had  hidden 
from  me.  This  time,  there  was  no  concealment ;  he  let 
me  see  that  he  was  opening  a  razor.  It  was  no  time  for 
asserting  my  innocence  ;  I  had  to  think  of  preserving  my 
life.  When  a  man  is  without  firearms,  what  defence  can 
avail  against  a  razor  in  the  hands  of  a  madman  ?  A  chair 
was  at  my  side  ;  it  offered  the  one  poor  means  of  guard¬ 
ing  myself  that  I  could  see.  I  laid  my  hand  on  it,  and 
kept  my  eye  on  him. 

He  paused,  looking  backward  and  forward  between 
the  picture  and  me. 

“Which  of  them  shall  I  kill  first?”  he  said  to  himself. 
“The  man  who  was  my  trusted  friend?  Or  the  woman 
whom  I  believed  to  be  an  angel  on  earth  ?”  He  stopped 
once  more  in  a  state  of  fierce  self-concentration,  debating 
what  he  should  do.  “  The  woman,”  he  decided.  “Wretch  ! 
Fiend  !  Harlot !  How  I  loved  her! ! !  ” 

With  a  yell  of  fury,  he  pounced  on  the  picture — ripped 
the  canvas  out  of  the  frame — and  cut  it  malignantly  into 
fragments.  As  they  dropped  from  the  razor  on  the  floor, 
he  stamped  on  them,  and  ground  them  under  his  foot. 
“Go,  wife  of  my  bosom,”  he  cried,  with  a  dreadful  mock¬ 
ery  of  voice  and  look — “  go,  and  burn  everlastingly  in  the 
place  of  torment  !  ”  His  eyes  glared  at  me.  “  Your  turn 
now,”  he  said — and  rushed  at  me  with  his  weapon  ready- 
in  his  hand.  I  hurled  the  chair  at  his  right  arm.  The 
razor  dropped  on  the  floor.  I  caught  him  by  the  wrist. 
Like  a  wild  animal  he  tried  to  bite  me.  With  my  free 
hand — if  I  had  known  how  to  defend  myself  in  any  other 
way,  I  would  have  taken  that  way — with  my  free  hand  I 
seized  him  by  the  throat  ;  forced  him  back  ;  and  held  him 
against  the  wall.  My  grasp  on  his  throat  kept  him  quiet. 
But  the  dread  of  seriously  injuring  him  so  completely 
overcame  me,  that  I  forgot  I  was  a  prisoner  in  the  room, 
and  was  on  the  point  of  alarming  the  household  by  a  cry 
for  help. 

I  was  still  struggling  to  preserve  my  self-control  when 
the  sound  of  footsteps  broke  the  silence  outside.  I  heard 
the  key  turn  in  the  lock,  and  saw  the  doctor  at  the  open 
door. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CA/M 


213 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

I  cannot  prevail  upon  myself  to  dwell  at  any  length  on 
the  events  that  followed. 

We  secured  my  unhappy  friend,  and  carried  him  to  his 
bed.  It  was  necessary  to  have  men  in  attendance  who 
could  perform  the  duty  of  watching  him.  The  doctor 
sent  for  them,  while  I  went  down-stairs  to  make  the  best  I 
could  of  the  miserable  news  which  it  was  impossible  en¬ 
tirely  to  conceal. 

All  that  I  could  do  to  spare  Miss  Jillgall,  I  did.  I  was 
obliged  to  acknowledge  that  there  had  been  an  outbreak 
of  violence,  and  that  the  portrait  of  the  Minister’s  wife 
had  been  destroyed  by  the  Minister  himself.  Of  Helena’s 
revenge  on  me  I  said  nothing.  It  had  led  to  conse¬ 
quences  which  even  her  merciless  malice  could  not  have 
contemplated.  There  were  no  obstacles  in  the  way  of 
keeping  secret  the  attempt  on  my  life.  But  I  was  com¬ 
pelled  to  own  that  Mr.  Gracedieu  had  taken  a  dislike  to 
me,  which  rendered  it  necessary  that  my  visit  should  be 
brought  to  an  end.  I  hastened  to  add  that  I  should  go 
to  the  hotel,  and  should  wait  there  until  the  next  day,  in 
the  hope  of  hearing  better  news. 

Of  the  multitude  of  questions  with  which  poor  Miss 
Jillgall  overwhelmed  me — of  the  wild  words  of  sorrow  and 
alarm  that  escaped  her — of  the  desperate  manner  in  which 
she  held  by  my  arm,  and  implored  me  not  to  go  away, 
when  I  must  see  for  myself  that  “she  was  a  person  en¬ 
tirely  destitute  of  presence  of  mind” — I  shall  say  nothing. 
The  undeserved  suffering  that  is  inflicted  on  innocent  per¬ 
sons  by  the  sins  of  others  demands  silent  sympathy  ;  and, 
to  that  extent  at  least,  I  can  say  that  I  honestly  felt  for 
our  quaint  and  pleasant  little  friend. 

In  the  evening  the  doctor  called  on  me  at  the  hotel. 
The  medical  treatment  of  his  patient  had  succeeded  in 
calming  the  maddened  brain  under  the  influence  of  sleep. 
If  the  night  passed  quietly,  better  news  might  be  hoped 
for  in  the  morning. 

On  the  next  day  I  had  arranged  to  drive  to  the  farm, 
being  resolved  not  to  disappoint  Eunice.  But  I  shrank 
from  the  prospect  of  having  to  distress  her  as  I  had  al¬ 
ready  distressed  Miss  Jillgall.  The  only  alternative  left 
was  to  repeat  the  sad  story  in  writing,  subjected  to  the 


214 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALM 


concealments  which  I  had  already  observed.  This  I  did, 
and  sent  the  letter  by  messenger,  overnight,  so  that  Eu¬ 
nice  might  know  when  to  expect  me.  .  * 

The  medical  report,  in  the  morning,  justified  some  hope. 
Mr.  Gracedieu  had  slept  well,  and  there  had  been  no  re¬ 
appearance  of  insane  violence  on  his  waking.  But  the 
doctor’s  opinion  was  far  from  encouraging  when  we  spoke 
of  the  future.  He  did  not  anticipate  the  cruel  necessity 
of  placing  the  Minister  under  restraint — unless  some  new 
provocation  led  to  a  new  outbreak.  The  misfortune  to 
be  feared  was  imbecility. 

I  was  just  leaving  the  hotel,  to  keep  my  appointment 
with  Eunice,  when  the  waiter  announced  the  arrival  of  a 
young  lady  who  wished  to  speak  with  me.  Before  I  could 
ask  if  she  had  mentioned  her  name,  the  young  lady  her¬ 
self  walked  in.  Helena  Gracedieu. 

She  explained  her  object  in  calling  on  me,  with  the  ex¬ 
asperating  composure  which  was  peculiarly  her  own.  No 
parallel  to  it  occurs  to  me  in  my  official  experience  of 
shameless  women. 

“  I  don’t  wish  to  speak  of  what  happened  yesterday,  so 
far  as  I  know  anything  about  it,”  she  began.  “  It  is  quite 
enough  for  me  that  you  have  been  obliged  to  leave  the 
house  and  to  take  refuge  in  this  hotel.  I  have  come  to 
say  a  word  about  the  future.  Are  you  honoring  me  with 
your  attention  ?  ” 

I  signed  to  her  to  go  on.  If  I  had  answered  in  words, 

I  should  have  told  her  to  leave  the  room. 

“  At  first,”  she  resumed,  “  I  thought  of  writing  ;  but  it 
occurred  to  me  that  you  might  keep  my  letter,  and  show 
it  to  Philip,  by  way  of  lowering  me  in  his  good  opinion,  as 
you  have  lowered  me  in  the  good  opinion  of  his  father. 
My  object  in  coming  here  is  to  give  you  a  word  of  warn¬ 
ing.  If  you  attempt  to  make  mischief  next  between  Philip 
and  myself,  I  shall  hear  of  it — and  you  know  what  to  ex¬ 
pect  when  you  have  Me  for  an  enemy.  It  is  not  worth 
while  to  say  any  more.  We  understand  each  other,  I 
hope  ?  ” 

She  was  determined  to  have  a  reply — and  she  got  it. 

“  Not  quite  yet,”  I  said.  “  I  have  been  hitherto,  as  be¬ 
comes  a  gentleman,  always  mindful  of  a  woman’s  claims 
to  forbearance.  You  will  do  well  not  to  tempt  me  into 
forgetting  that  you  are  a  woman,  by  prolonging  your  visit. 
Now,  Miss  Helena  Gracedieu,  we  understand  each  other.” 

She  made  me  a  low  courtesy,  and  answered  in  her  finest 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


215 


tone  of  irony  :  “  I  only  desire  to  wish  you  a  pleasant 
journey  home.” 

I  rang  for  the  waiter.  “  Show  this  lady  out,”  I  said. 

Even  this  failed  to  have  the  slightest  effect  on  her.  She 
sauntered  to  the  door,  as  perfectly  at  her  ease  as  if  the 
room  had  been  hers — not  mine. 

I  had  thought  of  driving  to  the  farm.  Shall  I  confess 
it  ?  My  temper  was  so  completely  upset  that  active  move¬ 
ment  of  some  kind  offered  the  one  means  of  relief  in  which 
I  could  find  refuge.  The  farm  was  not  more  than  five 
miles  distant,  and  I  had  been  a  good  walker  all  my  life. 
After  making  the  needful  inquiries,  I  set  forth  to  visit 
Eunice  on  foot. 

My  way  through  the  town  led  me  past  the  Minister’s 
house.  I  had  left  the  door  some  fifty  yards  behind  me, 
when  I  saw  two  ladies  approaching.  They  were  walking, 
in  the  friendliest  manner,  arm  in  arm.  As  they  came 
nearer,  I  discovered  Miss  Jillgall.  Her  companion  was 
the  middle-aged  lady  who  had  declined  to  give  her  name, 
when  we  met  accidentally  at  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  door. 

Hysterically  impulsive,  Miss  Jillgall  seized  both  my 
hands,  and  overwhelmed  me  with  entreaties  that  I  would 
go  back  with  her  to  the  house.  I  listened  rather  absently. 
The  middle-aged  lady  happened  to  be  nearer  to  me  now 
than  on  either  of  the  former  occasions  on  which  I  had  seen 
her.  There  was  something  in  the  expression  of  her  eyes 
which  seemed  to  be  familiar  to  me.  But  the  effort  of  my 
memory  was  not  helped  by  what  I  observed  in  the  other 
parts  of  her  face.  The  iron-gray  hair,  the  baggy  lower 
eyelids,  the  fat  cheeks,  the  coarse  complexion,  and  the 
double  chin,  were  features,  and  very  disagreeable  features 
too,  which  I  had  never  seen  at  any  former  time. 

“Do  pray  come  back  with  us,”  Miss  Jillgall  pleaded. 

“We  were  just  talking  of  you.  I  and  my  friend - ” 

There  she  stopped,  evidently  on  the  point  of  blurting  out 
the  name  which  she  had  been  forbidden  to  utter  in  my 
hearing. 

The  lady  smiled  ;  her  provokingly  familiar  eyes  rested 
on  me  with  a  humorous  enjoyment  of  the  scene. 

“  My  dear,”  she  said  to  Miss  Jillgall,  “caution  ceases  to 
be  a  virtue  when  it  ceases  to  be  of  any  use.  The  Governor 
is  beginning  to  remember  me,  and  the  inevitable  recogni¬ 
tion — with  his  quickness  of  perception — is  likely  to  be  a 
matter  of  minutes  now.”  She  turned  to  me,  “  In  more 
ways  than  one?  sir?  women  are  hardly  used  by  Nature,  As 


216 


THE  LEGACY  OE  CAIN. 


they  advance  in  years  they  lose  more  in  personal  appear¬ 
ance  than  the  men  do.  You  are  white-haired,  and  (pray 
excuse  me)  you  are  too  fat  ;  and  (allow  me  to  take  another 
liberty)  you  stoop  at  the  shoulders — but  you  have  not 
entirely  lost  your  good  looks,  /am  no  longer  recognizable. 
Allow  me  prompt  you,  as  they  say  on  the  stage.  I  am 
Mrs.  Tenbruggen.” 

As  a  man  of  the  world,  I  ought  to  have  been  capable  of 
concealing  my  astonishment  and  dismay.  She  struck  me 
dumb. 

Mrs.  Tenbruggen  in  the  town  !  The  one  woman  whose 
appearance  Mr.  Gracedieu  dreaded,  and  justly  dreaded, 
stood  before  me — free,  as  a  friend  of  his  kinswoman,  to 
enter  his  house  at  the  very  time  when  he  was  a  helpless 
man,  guarded  by  watchers  at  his  bedside.  My  first  clear 
idea  was  to  get  away  from  both  the  women,  and  consider 
seriously  what  was  to  be  done  next.  I  bowed — and  begged 
to  be  excused — and  said  I  was  in  a  hurry,  all  in  a  breath. 

Hearing  this,  the  best  of  genial  old  maids  was  unable 
to  restrain  her  curiosity.  “  Where  are  you  going?”  she 
asked. 

Too  confused  to  think  of  an  excuse,  I  said  I  was  going 
to  the  farm. 

“To  see  my  dear  Euneece?”  Miss  Jillgall  burst  out. 
“Oh,  we  will  go  with  you!”  Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  polite¬ 
ness  added  immediately,  “  With  the  greatest  pleasure.” 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

RELATED  BY  THE  GOVERNOR. 

My  first  ungrateful  impulse  was  to  get  rid  of  the  two 
amiable  ladies  who  had  offered  to  be  my  companions.  It 
was  needless  to  call  upon  my  invention  for  an  excuse  ;  the 
truth,  as  I  gladly  perceived,  would  serve  my  purpose.  I 
had  only  to  tell  them  that  I  had  arranged  to  walk  to  the 
farm. 

Lean,  wiry,  and  impetuous,  Miss  Jillgall  received  my  ex¬ 
cuse  with  the  sincerest  approval  of  it,  as  a  new  idea.  “Noth¬ 
ing  could  be  more  agreeable  to  me,”  she  declared :  “  I 
have  been  a  wonderful  walker  all  my  life.”  She  turned  to 
her  friend.  “We  will  go  with  him,  my  dear,  won’t  we  ?” 

Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  reception  of  this  proposal  inspired 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


21 7 


me  with  hope  ;  she  asked  how  far  it  was  to  the  farm. 
“Five  miles!”  she  repeated.  “And  five  miles  back  again, 
unless  the  farmer  lends  us  a  cart.  My  dear  Selina,  you 
might  as  well  ask  me  to  walk  to  the  North  Pole.  You 
have  got  rid  of  one  of  us,  Mr.  Governor,”  she  added  pleas¬ 
antly ;  “and  the  other,  if  you  only  walk  fast  enough,  you 
will  leave  behind  you  on  the  road.  If  I  believed  in  luck — 
which  I  don’t — I  should  call  you  a  fortunate  man.” 

But  companionable  Selina  would  not  hear  of  aseparation. 

She  asked,  in  her  most  irresistible  manner,  if  I  objected 
to  driving  instead  of  walking.  Her  heart’s  dearest  wish, 
she  said,  was  to  make  her  bosom  friend  and  myself  better 
acquainted  with  each  other.  To  conclude,  she  reminded 
me  that  there  was  a  cab-stand  in  the  next  street. 

Perhaps  I  might  have  been  influenced  by  my  distrust  of 
Mrs.  Tenbruggen,  or  perhaps  by  my  anxiety  to  protect 
Eunice.  It  struck  me  that  I  might  warn  the  defenseless 
girl  to  be  on  her  guard  with  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  to  better 
purpose  if  Eunice  was  in  a  position  to  recognize  her  in 
any  future  emergency  that  might  occur.  To  my  mind, 
this  dangerous  wornan  was  doubly  formidable — and  for  a 
good  reason  ;  she  was  the  bosom  friend  of  that  innocent 
and  unweary  person,  Miss  Jillgall. 

So  I  amiably  consented  to  forego  my  walk,  yielding  to 
the  superior  attractions  of  Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  company. 
On  that  day  the  sunshine  was  tempered  by  a  delightful 
breeze.  If  we  had  been  in  the  biggest  and  worst-governed 
city  on  the  civilized  earth,  we  should  have  found  no  public 
vehicle,  open  to  the  air,  which  could  offer  accommodation 
to  three  people.  Being  only  in  a  country  town,  we  had  a 
light  four-wheeled  chaise  at  our  disposal,  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

No  wise  man  expects  to  be  mercifully  treated,  when  he 
is  shut  into  a  carriage  with  a  mature  single  lady,  inflamed 
by  curiosity.  I  was  not  unprepared  for  Miss  Jillgall  when 
she  alluded,  for  the  second  time,  to  the  sad  events  which 
had  happened  in  the  house  on  the  previous  day — and 
especially  to  the  destruction  by  Mr.  Gracedieu  of  the  por¬ 
trait  of  his  wife. 

“Why  didn’t  he  destroy  something  else?”  she  pleaded 
piteously.  “It  is  such  a  disappointment  to  Me.  I  never 
liked  that  picture,  myself.  Of  course  I  ought  to  have  ad¬ 
mired  the  portrait  of  the  wife  of  my  benefactor.  But  no 
— that  disagreeable  painted  face  was  too  much  for  me.  I 
should  have  felt  inexpressibly  relieved  if  I  could  have 


THE  LEG  ACT  OE  CAIN. 


shown  it  to  Elizabeth,  and  heard  her  say  that  she  agreed 
with  me.” 

“Perhaps  I  saw  it  when  I  called  on  you,”  Mrs.  Tenbrug- 
gen  suggested.  “Where  did  the  picture  hang?” 

“My  dear!  I  received  you  in  the  dining-room,  and 
the  portrait  hung  in  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  study.” 

What  they  said  to  each  other  next,  escaped  my  attention. 
Quite  unconsciously,  Miss  Jillgall  had  revealed  to  me  a 
danger  which  neither  the  Minister  nor  I  had  discovered, 
though  it  had  conspicuously  threatened  us  both  on  the 
wall  of  the  study.  The  act  of  mad  destruction  which,  if  I 
had  possessed  the  means  of  safely  interfering  I  should  cer¬ 
tainly  have  endeavored  to  prevent,  now  assumed  a  new 
and  startling  aspect.  If  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  really  had  some 
motive  of  her  own  for  endeavoring  to  identify  the  adopted 
child,  the  preservation  of  the  picture  must  have  led  her 
straight  to  the  end  in  view.  The  most  casual  opportunity 
of  comparing  Helena  with  the  portrait  of  Mrs.  Gracedieu, 
would  have  revealed  the  likeness  between  mother  and 
daughter — and,  that  result  attained,  the  identification  of 
Eunice  with  the  infant  whom  the  “Miss  Chance”  of  those 
days  had  brought  to  the  prison,  must  inevitably  have 
followed.  It  was  perhaps  natural  that  Mr.  Gracedieu’s 
infatuated  devotion  to  the  memory  of  his  wife  should  have 
blinded  him  to  the  betrayal  of  Helena’s  parentage,  which 
met  his  eyes  every  time  he  entered  his  study.  But  that  I 
should  have  been  too  stupid  to  discover  what  he  had  failed 
to  see,  was  a  wound  dealt  to  my  self-esteem  which  I  was 
vain  enough  to  feel  acutely. 

Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  voice,  cheery  and  humorous,  broke 
in  on  my  reflections,  with  an  odd  question  : 

“  Mr.  Governor,  do  you  ever  condescend  to  read  novels  ?  ” 

“It’s  not  easy  to  say,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen,  how  grateful  I 
am  to  the  writers  of  novels.” 

“  Ah  !  I  read  novels,  too.  But  I  blush  to  confess — do  I 
blush  ? — that  I  never  thought  of  feeling  grateful  till  you 
mentioned  it.  Selina  and  I  don’t  complain  of  your  pre¬ 
ferring  your  own  reflections  to  our  company.  On  the  con¬ 
trary,  you  have  reminded  us  agreeably  of  the  heroes  of 
fiction,  when  the  author  describes  them  as  being  ‘  absorbed 
in  thought.’  For  some  minutes,  Mr.  Governor,  you  have 
been  a  hero  ;  absorbed,  as  I  venture  to  guess,  in  unpleasant 
remembrances  of  the  time  when  I  was  a  single  lady.  You 
have  not  forgotten  how  badly  I  behaved,  and  what  shock¬ 
ing  things  I  said,  in  those  bygone  days.  Am  I  right  ?  ” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


219 


“You  are  entirely  wrong.” 

It  is  possible  that  I  may  have  spoken  a  little  too  sharply. 
Anyway,  faithful  Selina  interceded  for  her  friend.  “  Oh, 
dear  Sir,  don’t  be  hard  on  Elizabeth  !  She  always  means 
well.”  Mrs.  Tenbruggen,  as  facetious  as  ever,  made  a 
grateful  return  for  a  small  compliment.  She  chucked  Miss 
Jillgall  under  the  chin,  with  the  air  of  an  amorous  old 
gentleman  expressing  his  approval  of  a  pretty  servant-girl. 
It  was  impossible  to  look  at  the  two,  in  their  relative  situa¬ 
tions,  without  laughing.  But  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  failed  to 
cheat  me  into  altering  my  opinion  of  her.  Innocent  Miss 
Jillgall  clapped  her  ugly  hands,  and  said  :  “Isn’t  she  good 
company  ?  ” 

Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  social  resources  were  not  exhausted 
yet.  She  suddenly  shifted  to  the  serious  side  of  her  char¬ 
acter. 

“  Perhaps  I  have  improved  a  little,”  she  said,  “  as  I  have 
advanced  in  years.  The  sorrows  of  an  unhappy  married 
life  may  have  had  a  purifying  influence  on  my  nature. 
My  husband  and  I  began  badly.  Mr.  Tenbruggen  thought 
I  had  money  ;  and  I  thought  Mr.  Tenbruggen  had  money. 
He  was  taken  in  by  me  ;  and  I  was  taken  in  by  him. 
When  he  repeated  the  words  of  the  marriage  service  (most 
impressively  read  by  your  friend  the  Chaplain)  :  ‘  With  all 
my  worldly  goods  I  thee  endow  ’ — his  eloquent  voice  sug¬ 
gested  one  of  the  largest  incomes  in  Europe.  When  I 
promised  and  vowed,  in  my  turn,  the  delightful  prospect 
of  squandering  my  rich  husband’s  money  made  quite  a  new 
woman  of  me.  I  declare  solemnly,  when  I  said  I  would 
love,  honor,  and  obey  Mr.  T.,  I  looked  as  if  I  really  meant 
it.  Wherever  he  is  now,  poor  dear,  he  is  cheating  some¬ 
body.  Such  a  handsome  gentlemanlike  man,  Selina  ! 
And,  oh,  Mr.  Governor,  such  a  blackguard  !  ” 

Having  described  her  husband  in  those  terms,  she  got 
tired  of  the  subject.  We  were  now  favored  with  another 
view  of  this  many-sided  woman.  She  appeared  in  her 
professional  character. 

“Ah,  what  a  delicious  breeze  is  blowing,  out  here  in 
the  country  !”  she  said.  “Will  you  excuse  me  if  I  take 
off  my  gloves  ?  I  want  to  air  my  hands.”  She  held  up 
her  hands  to  the  breeze  ;  firm,  muscular,  deadly  white 
hands.  “  In  my  professional  occupation,”  she  explained, 
“  I  am  always  rubbing,  tickling,  squeezing,  tapping,  knead¬ 
ing,  rolling,  striking  the  muscles  of  patients.  Selina,  do 
you  know  the  movements  of  your  own  joints  ?  Flexion, 


220 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


extension,  abduction,  adduction,  rotation,  circumduction, 
pronation,  supination,  and  the  lateral  movements.  Be 
proud  of  those  accomplishments,  my  dear,  but  beware  of 
attempting  to  become  a  Masseuse.  There  are  drawbacks 
to  that  vocation — and  I  am  conscious  of  one  of  them  at 
this  moment.”  She  lifted  her  hands  to  her  nose.  “Pah! 
my  hands  smell  of  human  flesh.  The  air,  the  delicious 
country  air,  will  blow  it  away — the  luxury  of  purification  !  ” 
Her  fingers  twisted  and  quivered,  and  got  crooked  at  one 
moment  and  straight  again  at  another,  and  showed  them¬ 
selves  in  succession  singly,  and  flew  into  each  other  fiercely 
interlaced,  and  then  spread  out  again  like  the  sticks  of  a 
fan,  until  it  really  made  me  giddy  to  look  at  them.  As  for 
Miss  Jillgall,  she  lifted  her  poor  little  sunken  eyes  raptur¬ 
ously  to  the  sky,  as  if  she  called  the  honest  sunlight  to 
witness  that  this  was  the  most  lovable  woman  on  the  face 
of  the  earth. 

But  elderly  female  fascination  offers  its  allurements  in 
vain  to  the  rough  animal,  man.  Suspicion  of  Mrs.  Ten- 
bruggen’s  motives  had  established  itself  firmly  in  my  mind. 
Why  had  the  popular  Masseuse  abandoned  her  brilliant 
career  in  London  and  plunged  into  the  obscurity  of  a 
country  town  ?  An  opportunity  of  clearing  up  the  doubt 
thus  suggested  seemed  to  have  presented  itself  now.  “  Is 
it  indiscreet  to  ask,”  I  said,  “if  you  are  here  in  your  pro¬ 
fessional  capacity  ?  ” 

Her  cunning  seized  its  advantage  and  put  a  sly  ques¬ 
tion  to  me.  “  Do  you  wish  to  be  one  of  my  patients  your¬ 
self  ?  ” 

“That  is  unfortunately  impossible,”  I  replied,  “I  have 
arranged  to  return  to  London.” 

“  Immediately  ?  ” 

“  To-morrow  at  the  latest.” 

Artful  as  she  was,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  failed  to  conceal  a 
momentary  expression  of  relief  which  betrayed  itself,  part¬ 
ly  in  her  manner,  partly  in  her  face.  She  had  ascertained, 
to  her  own  complete  satisfaction,  that  my  speedy  departure 
was  an  event  which  might  be  relied  on. 

“But  I  have  not  yet  answered  you,”  she  resumed.  “To 
tell  the  truth,  I  am  eager  to  try  my  hands  on  you.  Mas- 
sage,  as  I  practise  it,  would  lighten  your  weight,  and  restore 
your  figure  ;  I  may  even  say  would  lengthen  your  life. 
\  ou  will  think  of  me,  one  of  these  days,  won’t  you?  In 
the  meanwhile — yes  !  I  am  here  in  my  professional  capac¬ 
ity.  Several  interesting  cases  :  and  very  remarkable  per- 


221 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 

son,  brought  to  death’s  door  by  the  doctors  ;  a  rich  man 
who  is  liberal  in  paying  his  fees.  There  is  my  quarrel 
with  London,  and  the  Londoners.  Some  of  their  papers, 
medical  newspapers  of  course,  declare  that  my  fees  are 
exorbitant  ;  and  there  is  a  tendency  among  the  patients — - 
I  mean  the  patients  who  are  rolling  in  riches — to  follow 
the  lead  of  the  newspapers.  I  am  no  worm  to  be  trodden 
on,  in  that  way.  The  London  people  shall  wait  for  me, 
until  they  miss  me — and,  when  I  do  go  back,  they  will  find 
the  fees  increased.  My  fingers  and  thumbs,  Mr.  Governor, 
are  not  to  be  insulted  with  impunity.” 

Miss  Jillgall  nodded  her  head  at  me.  It  was  an  elo¬ 
quent  nod.  “  Admire  my  spirited  friend,”  was  the  inter¬ 
pretation  I  put  on  it. 

At  the  same  time,  my  private  sentiments  suggested  that 
Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  reply  was  too  perfectly  satisfactory, 
viewed  as  an  explanation.  My  suspicions  were  by  no 
means  set  at  rest ;  and  I  was  resolved  not  to  let  the  subject 
drop  yet.  “  Speaking  of  Mr.  Gracedieu,  and  of  the  chances 
of  his  partial  recovery,”  I  said,  “do  you  think  the  Minister 
would  benefit  by  Massage?” 

“  I  haven’t  a  doubt  of  it,  if  you  can  get  rid  of  the  doctor.” 

“You  think  he  would  be  an  obstacle  in  the  way?” 

“There  are  some  medical  men  who  are  honorable  ex¬ 
ceptions  to  the  general  rule  ;  and  he  may  be  one  of  them,” 
Mrs.  Tenbruggen  admitted.  “  Don’t  be  too  hopeful.  As 
a  doctor,  he  belongs  to  the  most  tyrannical  trades-union  in 
existence.  May  I  make  a  personal  remark  ?” 

“  Certainly.” 

“  I  find  something  in  your  manner — pray  don’t  suppose 
that  I  am  angry — which  looks  like  distrust  ;  I  mean,  dis¬ 
trust  of  Me.” 

Miss  Jillgall’s  ever  ready  kindness  interfered  in  my  de¬ 
fence  :  “  Oh,  no,  Elizabeth  !  You  are  not  often  mistaken  ; 
but  indeed  you  are  wrong  now.  Look  at  my  distin¬ 
guished  friend.  I  remember  my  copy-book,  when  I  was  a 
small  creature  learning  to  write,  in  England.  There  were 
first  lines  that  we  copied,  in  big  letters,  and  one  of  them 
said,  ‘Distrust  Is  Mean.’  I  knew  a  young  person,  whose 
name  begins  with  H,  who  is  one  mass  of  meanness.  But” 
— excellent  Selina  paused,  and  pointed  to  me  with  a  ges¬ 
ture  of  triumph — “no  meanness  there  !” 

Mrs.  Tenbruggen  waited  to  hear  what  I  had  to  say, 
scornfully  insensible  to  Miss  Jillgall’s  well-meant  interrup¬ 
tion. 


222 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


“  You  are  not  altogether  mistaken,”  I  told  her.  “  I  can’t 
say  that  my  mind  is  in  a  state  of  distrust,  but  I  own  that 
you  puzzle  me.” 

“  How,  if  you  please  ?  ” 

“May  I  presume  that  you  remember  the  last  occasion 
when  we  met  ?  You  saw  that  I  failed  to  recognise  you, 
and  you  refused  to  give  your  name  to  the  servant  who 
answered  the  door.  A  few  days  afterward  I  heard  you 
(quite  accidentally)  forbid  Miss  Jillgall  to  mention  your 
name  in  my  hearing.  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  it.” 

Before  she  could  answer  me,  the  chaise  drew  up  at  the 
gate  of  the  farm-house.  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  politely  prom¬ 
ised  to  explain  what  had  puzzled  me,  at  the  first  opportun¬ 
ity.  “  If  it  escapes  my  memory,”  she  said,  “pray  remind 
me  of  it.” 

I  determined  to  remind  her  of  it.  Whether  I  could  de¬ 
pend  on  her  to  tell  me  the  truth,  was  quite  another  thing. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

Eunice  ran  out  to  meet  us,  and  opened  the  gate.  She 
was  instantly  folded  in  Miss  Jillgall’s  arms.  On  her  release, 
she  came  to  me,  eager  for  news  of  her  father’s  health. 
When  I  had  communicated  all  that  I  thought  it  right  to 
tell  her  of  the  doctor’s  last  report,  she  noticed  Mrs.  Ten- 
bruggen.  The  appearance  of  a  stranger  seemed  to  embar¬ 
rass  her.  I  left  Miss  Jillgall  to  introduce  them  to  each  other. 

“Darling  Eunice,  you  remember  Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s 
name,  I  am  sure  ?  Elizabeth,  this  is  my  sweet  girl  ;  I 
mentioned  her  in  one  of  my  letters  to  you.” 

“  I  hope  she  will  be  my  sweet  girl,  when  we  know  each 
other  a  little  better.  May  I  kiss  you  dear?  You  have 
lovely  eyes  ;  but  I  am  sorry  to  see  that  they  don’t  look 
like  happy  eyes.  You  want  Mamma  Tenbruggen  to  cheer 
you.  What  a  charming  old  house!” 

She  put  her  arm  round  Eunice’s  waist,  and  led  her  to 
the  house-door.  Her  enjoyment  of  the  honeysuckles  that 
twined  their  way  up  the  pillars  of  the  porch  was  simply 
perfection,  as  a  piece  of  acting.  When  the  farmer’s  wife 
presented  herself,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  was  so  irresistibly 
amiable,  and  took  such  flattering  notice  of  the  children, 
that  the  harmless  British  matron  actually  blushed  with 
pleasure.  “  I’m  sure,  ma’am,  you  must  have  children  of 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALM 


223 

your  own,”  she  said.  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  cast  her  eyes  on 
the  floor,  and  sighed  with  pathetic  resignation.  A  sweet 
little  family,  and  all  cruelly  swept  away  by  death.  If  the 
performance  meant  anything,  it  did  most  assuredly  mean 
that. 

“  What  wonderful  self-possession  !”  somebody  whispered 
in  my  ear.  The  children  in  the  room  were  healthy,  well- 
behaved  little  creatures — but  the  name  of  the  innocent  one 
among  them  was  Selina. 

Before  dinner  we  were  shown  over  the  farm. 

The  good  woman  of  the  house  led  the  way,  and  Miss 
Jillgall  and  I  accompanied  her.  The  children  ran  on  in 
front  of  us.  Still  keeping  possession  of  Eunice,  Mrs.  Ten¬ 
bruggen  followed  at  some  distance  behind.  I  looked  back, 
after  no  very  long  interval,  and  saw  that  a  separation  had 
taken  place.  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  passed  me,  not  looking  so 
pleasantly  as  usual,  joined  the  children,  and  walked  with 
two  of  them,  hand  in  hand,  a  pattern  of  maternal  amiability. 
I  dropped  back  a  little,  and  gave  Eunice  an  opportunity 
of  joining  me  ;  having  purposely  left  her  to  form  her  own 
opinion,  without  any  adverse  influence  exercised  on  my 
part. 

“  Is  that  lady  a  friend  of  yours  ?  ”  she  asked. 

“No;  only  an  acquaintance.  What  do  you  think  of 
her  ?  ” 

“  I  thought  I  should  like  her,  at  first ;  she  was  so  kind, 
and  seemed  to  take  such  an  interest  in  me.  But  she  said 
such  strange  things — asked  if  I  was  reckoned  like  my 
mother,  and  which  of  us  was  the  eldest,  my  sister  or  my¬ 
self,  and  whether  we  were  my  father’s  only  two  children, 
and  if  one  of  us  was  more  his  favorite  than  the  other. 
What  I  could  tell  her,  I  did  tell.  But  when  I  said  I  didn’t 
know  which  of  us  was  the  oldest,  she  gave  me  an  impudent 
tap  on  the  cheek,  and  said,  ‘  I  don’t  believe  you,  child,’  and 
left  me.  How  can  Selina  be  so  fond  of  her  ?  Don’t  men¬ 
tion  it  to  anyone  else  ;  I  hope  I  shall  never  see  her  again.” 

“  I  will  keep  your  secret,  Eunice  ;  and  you  must  keep 
mine.  I  entirely  agree  with  you.” 

“You  agree  with  me  in  disliking  her?  ” 

“  Heartily.” 

We  could  say  no  more  at  that  time.  Our  friends  in  ad¬ 
vance  were  waiting  for  us.  We  joined  them  at  once. 

If  I  had  felt  any  doubt  of  the  purpose  which  had  really 
induced  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  to  leave  London,  all  further 
uncertainty  on  my  part  was  at  an  end.  She  had  some  vile 


224 


THE  LE  GA  C  Y  OF  CA  IN. 

interest  of  her  own  to  serve  by  identifying  Mr.  Gracedieu’s 
adopted  child — and  what  the  nature  of  that  interest  might 
be,  it  was  impossible  to  guess.  The  future,  when  I  thought 
of  it  now,  filled  me  with  dismay.  A  more  utterly  helpless 
position  than  mine  it  was  not  easy  to  conceive.  To  warn 
the  Minister,  in  his  present  critical  state  of  health,  was 
simply  impossible.  My  relations  with  Helena  forbade  me 
even  to  approach  her.  And,  as  for  Selina,  she  was  little 
less  than  a  mere  tool  in  the  hands  of  her  well-beloved 
friend.  What,  in  God’s  name,  was  I  to  do  ! 

At  dinner  time,  we  found  the  master  of  the  house  wait¬ 
ing  to  bid  us  welcome. 

Personally  speaking,  he  presented  a  remarkable  contrast 
to  the  typical  British  farmer.  He  was  neither  big  nor  burly  ; 
he  spoke  English  as  well  as  I  did  ;  and  there  was  nothing 
in  his  dress  which  would  have  made  him  a  fit  subject  for 
a  picture  of  rustic  life.  When  he  spoke,  he  was  able  to 
talk  on  subjects  unconnected  with  agricultural  pursuits  ; 
nor  did  I  hear  him  grumble  about  the  weather  and  the 
crops.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  that  his  wife  was  proud  of 
him,  and  that  he  was,  what  all  fathers  ought  to  be,  his 
children’s  best  and  dearest  friend.  Whv  do  I  dwell  on 
these  details,  relating  to  a  man  whom  I  was  not  destined 
to  see  again  ?  Only  because  I  had  reason  to  feel  grateful 
to  him.  When  my  spirits  were  depressed  by  anxiety,  he 
made  my  mind  easy  about  Eunice,  as  long  as  she  remained 
in  his  house. 

The  social  arrangements,  when  our  meal  was  over,  fell 
of  themselves  into  the  right  train. 

Miss  Jillgall  went  up-stairs,  with  the  mother  and  the  chil¬ 
dren,  to  see  the  nursery  and  the  bed-rooms.  Mrs.  Ten- 
bruggen  discovered  a  bond  of  union  between  the  farmer 
and  herself  ;  they  were  both  skilled  players  at  backgammon, 
and  they  sat  down  to  try  conclusions  at  their  favorite 
game.  Without  any  wearisome  necessity  for  excuses  or 
stratagems,  Eunice  took  my  arm  and  led  me  to  the  wel¬ 
come  retirement  of  her  own  sitting-room. 

I  could  honestly  congratulate  her,  when  I  heard  that  she 
was  established  at  the  farm,  as  a  member  of  the  family. 
While  she  was  governess  to  the  children,  she  was  safe 
from  dangers  that  might  have  threatened  her,  if  she  had 
been  compelled  by  circumstances  to  return  to  the  Minis¬ 
ter’s  house. 

The  entry  in  her  journal,  which  she  was  anxious  that  I 
should  read,  was  placed  before  me  next. 


THE  LEGACY  OE  CAW. 


225 


I  followed  the  poor  child’s  account  of  the  fearful  night 
that  she  had  passed,  with  an  interest  that  held  me  breath¬ 
less  to  the  end.  A.  terrible  dream,  which  had  impressed  a 
sense  of  its  reality  on  the  sleeper  by  reaching  its  climax 
in  somnambulism —  this  was  the  obvious  explanation,  no 
doubt,  and  a  rational  mind  would  not  hesitate  to  accept  it. 
But  a  rational  mind  is  not  an  universal  gift,  even  in  a 
country  which  prides  itself  on  the  idol-worship  of  Fact. 
Those  good  friends  who  are  always  better  acquainted  with 
our  faults,  failings,  and  weakness,  than  we  can  pretend  to 
be  ourselves,  had  long  since  discovered  that  my  nature 
was  superstitious,  and  my  imagination  likely  to  mislead 
me  in  the  presence  of  the  events  which  encouraged  it. 
Well  !  C  was  weak  enough  to  recoil  from  the  purely  ra¬ 
tional  view  of  all  that  Eunice  had  suffered,  and  heard,  and 
seen,  on  the  fateful  night  recorded  in  her  journal.  Good 
and  Evil  walk  the  ways  of  this  unintelligible  world,  on  the 
same  free  conditions.  If  we  cling,  as  many  of  us  do,  to 
the  comforting  belief  that  departed  spirits  can  minister  to 
earthly  creatures  for  good  :  can  be  felt  moving  in  us,  in  a 
train  of  thought,  and  seen  as  visible  manifestations,  in  a 
dream — -with  what  pretence  of  reason  can  we  deny  that 
the  same  freedom  of  supernatural  influence  which  is  con¬ 
ceded  to  the  departed  spirit,  working  for  good,  is  also 
permitted  to  the  departed  spirit,  working  for  evil  ?  If 
the  grave  cannot  wholly  part  mother  and  child,  when  the 
mother’s  life  has  been  good,  does  eternal  annihilation  sep¬ 
arate  them  when  the  mother’s  life  has  been  wicked  ?  No  ! 
If  the  departed  spirit  can  bring  with  it  a  blessing,  the  de¬ 
parted  spirit  can  bring  with  it  a  curse.  I  dared  not  con¬ 
fess  to  Eunice  that  the  influence  of  her  murderess- 
mother  might,  as  I  thought  possible,  have  been  supernat- 
urally  present  when  she  heard  temptation  whisper,  on  her 
pillow  ;  but  I  dared  not  deny  it  to  myself.  All  that  I 
could  say  to  satisfy  and  sustain  her,  I  did  say.  And  when 
I  declared — with  my  whole  heart  declared — that  the  noble 
passion  which  had  elevated  her  whole  being,  and  had 
triumphed  over  the  sorest  trials  that  desertion  could  inflict, 
would  still  triumph  to  the  end,  I  saw  hope,  in  that  brave 
and  true  heart,  showing  its  bright  promise  for  the  future 
in  Eunice’s  eyes. 

She  closed  and  locked  her  journal.  By  common  consent 
we  sought  the  relief  of  changing  the  subject.  Eunice 
asked  me  if  it  was  really  necessary  that  I  should  return  to 
London. 


226 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


I  shrank  from  telling  her  that  I  could  be  of  no  further 
use  to  her  father  while  he  regarded  me  with  an  enmity 
which  I  had  not  deserved.  But  I  saw  no  reason  for  con¬ 
cealing  that  it  was  my  purpose  to  see  Philip  Dunbovne. 

“You  told  me  yesterday,”  I  reminded  her,  “that  I  was 
to  say  you  had  forgiven  him.  Do  you  still  wish  me  to  do 
that?” 

“ Indeed  I  do  !  ” 

“Have  you  thought  of  it  seriously  ?  Are  you  sure  of 
not  having  been  hurried  by  a  generous  impulse  into  say¬ 
ing  more  than  you  mean  ?” 

“  I  have  been  thinking  of  it,”  she  said,  “  through  the 
wakeful  hours  of  last  night — and  many  things  are  plain  to 
me  which  I  was  not  sure  of  in  the  time  when  I  was  so 
happy.  He  has  caused  me  the  bitterest  sorrow  of  my  life, 
but  he  can’t  undo  the  good  that  I  owe  to  him.  He  has 
made  a  better  girl  of  me,  in  the  time  when  his  love  was 
mine  ;  I  don’t  forget  that.  Miserably  as  it  has  ended,  I 
don’t  forget  that.” 

Her  voice  trembled  ;  the  tears  rose  in  her  eyes.  It  was 
impossible  for  me  to  conceal  the  distress  that  I  felt.  The 
noble  creature  saw  it.  “  No,”  she  said  faintly  ;  “  I  am  not 
going  to  cry.  Don’t  look  so  sorry  for  me.”  Her  hand 
pressed  my  hand  gently — she  pitied  me.  When  I  saw  how 
she  struggled  to  control  herself,  and  did  control  herself,  I 
declare  to  God  I  could  have  gone  down  on  my  knees  be¬ 
fore  her. 

She  asked  to  be  allowed  to  speak  of  Philip  again,  and 
for  the  last  time. 

“When  you  meet  with  him  in  London,  he  may  perhaps 
ask  if  you  have  seen  Eunice.” 

“  My  child  !  he  is  sure  to  ask.” 

“  Break  it  to  him  gently — but  don’t  let  him  deceive  him¬ 
self.  In  this  world,  he  must  never  hope  to  see  me  again.” 

I  tried — very  gently — to  remonstrate.  “  At  your  age 
and  at  his  age,”  I  said,  “  surely  there  is  hope  ?” 

“  There  is  no  hope.”  She  pressed  her  hand  on  her 
heart.  “I  know  it,  I  feel  it,  here.” 

“  Oh,  Eunice,  it’s  hard  for  me  to  say  that !  ” 

“I  will  try  to  make  it  easier  for  you.  Say  that  I  have 
forgiven  him — and  say  no  more.” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


227 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

After  leaving  Eunice  my  one  desire  was  to  be  alone.  I 
had  much  to  think  of,  and  I  wanted  an,opportunity  of  re¬ 
covering  myself.  On  my  way  out  of  the  house,  in  search 
of  the  first  solitary  place  that  I  could  discover,  I  passed 
the  room  in  which  we  had  dined.  The  door  was  ajar.  Be¬ 
fore  I  could  get  by  it  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  stepped  out  and 
stopped  me. 

“  Will  you  come  in  here  for  a  moment,”  she  said.  “  The 
farmer  has  been  called  away,  and  I  want  to  speak  to  you.” 

Very  unwillingly — but  how  could  I  have  refused  with¬ 
out  giving  offence  ? — I  entered  the  room. 

‘‘When  you  asked  for  that  explanation,”  Mrs.  Tenbrug¬ 
gen  began,  “  while  Selina  was  in  the  carriage  with  us,  you 
placed  me  in  an  awkward  position.  Our  little  friend  is  an 
excellent  creature,  but  her  tongue  runs  away  with  her  some¬ 
times  ;  I  am  obliged  to  be  careful  of  taking  her  too  readily 
into  my  confidence.  For  instance,  I  have  never  told  her 
what  my  name  was  before  I  married.  Won’t  you  sit 
down  ?  ” 

I  had  purposely  remained  stationary  as  a  hint  to  her  not 
to  prolong  the  interview.  The  hint  was  thrown  away  ;  I 
took  a  chair. 

“Selina’s  letters  had  informed  me,”  she  resumed,  “that 
Mr.  Gracedieu  was  a  nervous  invalid.  When  I  came  to 
England  I  had  hoped  to  try  what  massage  might  do  to  re¬ 
lieve  him.  The  cure  of  their  popular  preacher  might 
have  advertised  me  through  the  whole  Wesleyan  sect.  It 
was  essential  to  my  success  that  I  should  present  myself 
as  a  stranger.  I  could  trust  time  and  change,  and  my  mar¬ 
ried  name  (certainly  not  known  to  Mr.  Gracedieu)  to  keep 
up  my  incognito.  He  would  have  refused  to  see  me  if  he 
had  known  that  I  was  once  Miss  Chance.” 

I  began  to  be  interested. 

Here  was  an  opportunity,  perhaps,  of  discovering  what 
the  Minister  had  failed  to  remember  when  he  had  been 
speaking  of  this  woman,  and  when  I  had  asked  if  he  had 
ever  offended  her.  I  was  especially  careful  in  making  my 
inquiries. 

“  I  remember  how  you  spoke  to  Mr.  Gracedieu,”  I  said, 
“when  you  and  he  met,  long  ago,  in  my  rooms.  But  sure¬ 
ly  you  don’t  think  him  capable  of  vindictively  remembering 


228 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


some  thoughtless  words,  which  escaped  you  sixteen  or 
seventeen  years  since  ?  ” 

“  I  am  not  quite  such  a  fool  as  that,  Mr.  Governor. 
What  I  was  thinking  of  was  an  unpleasant  correspondence 
between  the  Minister  and  myself.  Before  I  was  so  unfor¬ 
tunate  as  to  meet\tith  Mr.  Tenbruggen,  I  obtained  a  chance 
of  employment  in  a  public  institution,  on  condition  that  I 
included  a  clergyman  among  my  references.  Knowing 
nobody  else  whom  I  could  apply  to,  I  rashly  wrote  to  Mr. 
Gracedieu,  and  received  one  of  those  cold  and  cruel  re¬ 
fusals  which  only  the  strictest  religious  principle  can  pro¬ 
duce.  I  was  mortally  offended  at  the  time  ;  and  if  your 
friend  the  Minister  had  been  within  my  reach — ”  She 
paused,  and  finished  the  sentence  by  a  significant  gesture. 

“Well,”  1  said,  “  he  is  within  your  reach  now.” 

“  And  out  of  his  mind,”  she  added.  “  Besides,  one’s 
sense  of  injury  doesn’t  last  (except  in  novels  and  plays) 
through  a  series  of  years.  I  don’t  pity  him — there  is  all 
that  remains  of  my  anger  now.  It  is  possible  that  he  may 
get  better.”  She  paused  again. 

“  And  suppose  he  does  get  better  ?  ”  I  suggested. 

“  Oh,  then  I  shall  do  what  I  intended  to  do  when  I  came 
to  England.  The  famous  preacher  shall  advertise  massage 
among  the  congregations.  In  the  meantime,  I  suppose 
you  understand  now  why  I  concealed  my  name  from  you, 
and  why  I  kept  out  of  the  house  while  you  were  in  it.” 

It  was  plain  enough,  of  course.  If  I  had  known  her 
again,  or  had  heard  her  name,  I  might  have  told  the  Min¬ 
ister  that  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  and  Miss  Chance  were  one  and 
the  same.  And  if  I  had  seen  her  and  talked  with  her  in 
the  house,  my  memory  might  have  shown  itself  capable  of 
improvement.  Having  politely  presented  the  expression 
of  my  thanks,  I  rose  to  go. 

She  stopped  me  at  the  door. 

“  One  word  more,”  she  said,  “  while  Selina  is  out  of  the 
way.  I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  T  have  not  trusted  her 
with  the  Minister’s  secret.  You  and  I  are,  as  I  take  it,  the 
only  people  now  living  who  know  the  truth  about  those 
two  girls.  And  we  keep  our  advantage.” 

“  What  advantage  ?  ”  I  asked. 

“  Don’t  you  know  ?  ” 

“  I  don’t,  indeed.” 

“  No  more  do  I.  Female  folly,  and  a  slip  of  the  tongue  ; 
I  am  old  and  ugly,  but  I  am  still  a  woman.  About  Miss 
Eunice.  Somebody  has  told  the  pretty  little  fool  never  to 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


229 


trust  strangers.  You  would  have  been  amused,  if  you  had 
heard  that  sly  young  person  prevaricating  with  me.  In 
one  respect  her  appearance  strikes  me.  She  is  not  like 
either  the  wretch  who  was  hanged,  or  the  poor  victim  who 
was  murdered.  Can  she  be  the  adopted  child  ?  Or  is  it 
the  other  sister,  whom  I  have  not  seen  yet  ?  Oh,  come  ! 
come  !  Don’t  try  to  look  as  if  you  didn’t  know.  This  is 
really  too  ridiculous.” 

“  You  alluded  just  now,”  I  answered,  “  to  our  ‘advantage  ’ 
in  being  the  only  persons  who  know  the  truth  about  the 
two  girls.  Well,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen,  I  keep  my  advantage.” 

“In  other  words,”  she  rejoined,  “you  leave  me  to  make 
the  discovery  for  mvself.  Well,  my  friend,  I  mean  to  do 
it !  ” 


In  the  evening  my  hotel  offered  to  me  the  refuge  of 
which  I  stood  in  need.  I  could  think,  for  the  first  time 
that  day,  without  interruption. 

Being  resolved  to  see  Philip,  I  prepared  myself  for  the 
interview  by  consulting  my  extracts  once  more.  The  let¬ 
ter  in  which  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  figures  inspired  me  with 
the  hope  of  protection  for  Mr.  Gracedieu,  attainable 
through  no  less  a  person  than  Helena  herself. 

To  begin  with,  she  would  certainly  share  Philip’s  aver¬ 
sion  to  the  masseuse,  and  her  dislike  of  Miss  Jillgall  would, 
just  as  possibly,  extend  to  Miss  Jillgall’s  friend.  The  hos¬ 
tile  feeling  thus  set  up  might  be  trusted  to  keep  watch  on 
Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  proceedings  with  a  vigilance  not  at¬ 
tainable  by  the  coarser  observation  of  a  man.  In  the  event 
of  an  improvement  in  the  Minister’s  health,  I  should  hear 
of  it  both  from  the  Doctor  and  from  Miss  Jillgall,  and  in 
that  case  I  should  instantly  return  to  my  unhappy  friend, 
and  put  him  on  his  guard. 

I  started  for  London  by  the  early  train  in  the  morning. 

My  way  home  from  the  terminus  took  me  past  the  hotel 
at  which  the  elder  Mr.  Dunboyne  was  staying.  I  called 
on  him.  He  was  reported  to  be  engaged  ;  that  is  to  say, 
immersed  in  his  books.  The  address  on  one  of  Philip’s 
letters  had  informed  me  that  he  was  staying  at  another 
hotel.  Pursuing  my  inquiries  in  this  direction,  I  met  with 
a  severe  disappointment.  Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne  had  left 
the  hotel  that  morning  ;  for  what  destination  neither  the 
landlord  nor  the  waiter  could  tell  me. 

The  next  day’s  post  brought  with  it  the  information 


230 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


which  I  had  failed  to  obtain.  Miss  Jillgall  wrote,  inform¬ 
ing  me  in  her  strongest  language  that  Philip  Dunboyne 
had  returned  to  Helena.  Indignant  Selina  added:  “He¬ 
lena  means  to  make  him  marry  her;  and  I  promise  you  she 
shall  fail,  if  I  can  stop  it.” 

In  taking  leave  of  Eunice  I  had  given  her  my  address; 
had  warned  her  to  be  careful,  if  she  and  Mrs.  Tenbruggen 
happened  to  meet  again;  and  had  begged  her  to  write  to 
me,  or  to  come  to  me,  if  anything  happened  to  alarm  her 
in  my  absence. 

In  two  days  more  I  received  a  line  from  Eunice,  written 
evidently  in  the  greatest  agitation. 

“  Philip  has  discovered  me.  He  has  been  here,  and 
has  insisted  on  seeing  me.  I  have  refused.  The  good 
farmer  has  so  kindly  taken  my  part.  I  can  write  no 
more.” 


CHAPTER  L. 

THE  GOVERNOR  MAKES  EXTRACTS. 

When  I  next  heard  from  Miss  Jillgall,  the  introductory 
part  of  her  letter  merely  reminded  me  that  Philip  Dun¬ 
boyne  was  established  at  the  hotel,  and  that  Helena  was 
in  daily  communication  with  him.  I  shall  do  Selina  no 
injustice  if  my  extract  begins  with  her  second  page. 

“You  will  sympathize,  I  am  sure”  (she  writes)  “with 
the  indignation  which  urged  me  to  call  on  Philip,  and  tell 
him  the  way  to  the  farm-house.  Think  of  Helena  being 
determined  to  marry  him,  whether  he  wants  to  or  not!  I 
am  afraid  this  is  bad  grammar.  But  there  are  occasions 
when  even  a  cultivated  lady  fails  in  her  grammar,  and 
almost  envies  the  men  their  privilege  of  swearing  when 
they  are  in  a  rage.  My  state  of  mind  is  truly  indescrib¬ 
able.  Grief  mingles  with  anger,  when  I  tell  you  that  my 
sweet  Euneece  has  disappointed  me,  for  the  first  time 
since  I  had  the  happiness  of  knowing  and  admiring  her. 
What  can  have  been  the  motive  of  her  refusal  to  receive 
her  penitent  lover?  Is  it  pride?  We  are  told  that  Satan 
fell  through  pride.  Euneece  satanic?  Impossible!  I 
feel  inclined  to  go  and  ask  her-what  has  hardened  her 
heart  against  a  poor  young  man,  who  bitterly  regrets  his 
own  folly.  Do  you  think  it  was  bad  advice  from  the 
farmer  or  his  wife?  In  that  case,  I  shall  exert  my  influ- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


231 


ence,  and  take  her  away.  You  would  do  the  same, 
wouldn’t  you? 

“  I  am  ashamed  to  mention  the  poor  dear  Minister  in  a 
postscript.  The  truth  is,  I  don’t  very  well  know  what  I 
am  about.  Mr.  Gracedieu  is  quiet,  sleeps  better  than  he 
did,  eats  with  a  keener  appetite,  gives  no  trouble.  But, 
alas,  that  glorious  intellect  is  in  a  state  of  eclipse!  Do 
not  suppose,  because  I  write  figuratively,  that  I  am  not 
sorry  for  him.  He  understands  nothing;  he  remembers 
nothing;  he  has  my  prayers. 

“  You  might  come  to  us  again,  if  you  would  only  be  so 
kind.  It  would  make  no  difference  now;  the  poor  man  is 
so  sadly  altered.  I  must  add,  most  reluctantly,  that  the 
doctor  recommends  your  staying  at  home.  Between  our¬ 
selves,  he  is  little  better  than  a  coward.  Fancy  his  saying: 
‘  No;  we  must  not  run  that  risk  yet.’  I  am  barely  civil  to 
him,  and  no  more. 

“  In  any  other  affair  (excuse  me  for  troubling  you  with 
a  second  postscript),  my  sympathy  with  Euneece  would 
have  penetrated  her  motives;  I  should  have  felt  with  her 
feelings.  But  I  have  never  been  in  love;  no  gentleman 
gave  me  the  opportunity  when  I  was  young.  Now  I  am 
middle-aged,  neglect  has  done  its  dreary  work — my  heart 
is  an  extinct  crater.  Figurative  again!  I  had  better  put 
my  p»n  away,  and  say  farewell  for  the  present.” 

M  iss  Jillgall  may  now  give  place  to  Eunice.  The  same 
day’s  post  brought  me  both  letters. 

I  should  be  unworthy  indeed  of  the  trust  which  this 
affectionate  girl  has  placed  in  me,  if  I  failed  to  receive  her 
explanation  of  her  conduct  towards  Philip  Dunboyne,  as 
a  sacred  secret  confided  to  my  fatherly  regard.  Knowing 
the  motives  by  which  she  was  really  animated,  I  firmly 
believe  it  is  in  his  own  best  interests  that  she  has  disap¬ 
pointed  him.  May  the  day  come  when  he  will  see  it  as 
clearly  as  I  do. 

In  those  later  portions  of  her  letter,  which  are  not  ad¬ 
dressed  to  me  confidentially,  Eunice  writes  as  follows: 

“I  get  news — and  what  heartbreaking  news! — of  my 
father,  by  sending  a  messenger  to  Selina.  It  is  more  than 
ever  impossible  that  I  can  put  myself  in  the  way  of  seeing 
Helena  again.  She  has  written  to  me  about  Philip,  in  a 
tone  so  shockingly  insolent  and  cruel,  that  I  have  de¬ 
stroyed  her  letter.  Philip’s  visit  to  the  farm,  discovered 
I  don’t  know  how,  seems  to  have  infuriated  her.  She 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


232 

accuses  me  of  doing  all  that  she  might  herself  have  done 
in  my  place,  and  threatens  me — no!  I  am  afraid  of  the 
wicked  whisperings  of  that  second  self  of  mine  if  I  think 
of  it.  They  were  near  to  tempting  me  when  I  read 
Helena’s  letter.  But  I  thought  of  what  you  said,  after  I 
had  shown  you  my  journal;  and  your  words  took  my 
memory  back  to  the  days  when  I  was  happy  with  Philip. 
The  trial  and  the  terror  passed  away. 

“  Consolation  has  come  to  me  from  the  best  of  good 
women.  Mrs.  Staveley  writes  as  lovingly  as  my  mother 
might  have  written  if  death  had  spared  her.  I  have 
replied  with  all  the  gratitude  that  I  really  feel,  but  with¬ 
out  taking  advantage  of  the  services  which  she  offers. 
Mrs.  Staveley  has  it  in  her  mind,  as  you  had  it  in  your 
mind,  to  bring  Philip  back  to  me.  Does  she  forget,  do 
you  forget,  that  Helena  claims  him?  But  you  both  mean 
kindly,  and  I  love  you  both  for  the  interest  that  you  feel 
in  me. 

“The  farmer’s  wife — dear  good  soul! — hardly  under¬ 
stands  me  so  well  as  her  husband  does.  She  confesses  to 
pitying  Philip.  ‘  He  is  so  wretched,’  she  says.  ‘  And,  dear 
heart,  how  handsome,  and  what  nice  winning  manners!  I 
don’t  think  I  should  have  had  your  courage,  in  your  place. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I  should  have  jumped  for  joy  when  I 
saw  him  at  the  door;  and  I  should  have  run  down  to  le*t 
him  in — and  perhaps  been  sorry  for  it  afterwards.  If  you 
really  wish  to  forget  him,  my  dear,  I  will  do  all  I  can  to 
help  you.’ 

“These  are  trifling  things  to  mention,  but  I  am  afraid 
you  may  think  I  am  unhappy — and  I  want  to  prevent 
that. 

“I  have  so  much  to  be  thankful  for,  and  the  children 
are  so  fond  of  me.  Whether  I  teach  them  as  well  as  I 
might  have  done,  if  I  had  been  a  more  learned  girl,  may 
perhaps  be  doubtful.  They  do  more  for  their  governess, 
I  am  afraid,  than  their  governess  does  for  them.  When 
they  come  into  my  room  in  the  morning,  and  rouse  me 
with  their  kisses,  the  hour  of  waking,  which  used  to  be  so 
hard  to  endure  after  Philip  left  me,  is  now  the  happiest 
hour  of  my  day.” 

With  that  reassuring  view  of  her  life  as  a  governess,  the 
poor  child’s  letter  comes  to  an  end. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


233 


CHAPTER  LI. 

Miss  Jillgall  appears  again,  after  an  interval,  on  the 
field  of  my  extracts.  My  pleasant  friend  deserves  this 
time  a  serious  reception.  She  informs  me  that  Mrs.  Ten- 
bruggen  has  begun  the  inquiries  which  I  have  the  best 
reason  to  dread — for  I  alone  know  the  end  which  they  are 
designed  to  reach. 

The  arrival  of  this  news  affected  me  in  two  different 
ways. 

It  was  discouraging  to  find  that  circumstances  had  not 
justified  my  reliance  on  Helena’s  enmity  as  a  counter¬ 
influence  to  Mrs.  Tenbruggen.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
was  a  relief  to  be  assured  that  my  return  to  London 
would  serve,  rather  than  compromise,  the  interests  which 
it  was  my  chief  anxiety  to  defend.  I  had  foreseen  that 
Mrs.  Tenbruggen  would  wait  to  set  her  enterprise  on 
foot,  until  I  was  out  of  her  way;  and  I  had  calculated  on 
my  absence  as  an  event  which  would  at  least  put  an  end 
to  suspense  by  encouraging  her  to  begin. 

The  first  sentences  in  Miss  Jillgall’s  letter  explain  the 
nature  of  her  interest  in  the  proceedings  of  her  friend, 
and  are,  on  that  account,  worth  reading. 

‘‘Things  are  sadly  changed  for  the  worse”  (Selina 
writes);  “but  I  don’t  forget  that  Philip  was  once  engaged 
to  Euneece,  and  that  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  extraordinary  con¬ 
duct  towards  him  puzzled  us  all.  The  mode  of  discovery 
which  dear  Elizabeth  suggested  by  letter  at  that  time, 
appears  to  be  the  mode  which  she  is  following  now. 
When  I  asked  why,  she  said:  ‘Philip  may  return  to  Eu¬ 
neece  ?  the  Minister  may  recover — and  will  be  all  the 
more  likely  to  do  so  if  he  tries  Massage.  In  that  case,  he 
will  probably  repeat  the  conduct  which  surprised  you  ; 
and  your  natural  curiosity  will  ask  me  again  to  find  out 
what  it  means.  Am  I  your  friend,  Selina,  or  am  I  not  ?’ 
This  was  so  delightfully  kind,  and  so  irresistibly  conclu¬ 
sive,  that  I  kissed  her  in  a  transport  of  gratitude.  With 
what  breathless  interest  I  have  watched  her  progress  to¬ 
wards  penetrating  the  mystery  of  the  girls’  ages,  it  is 
quite  needless  to  tell  you.” 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  method  of  keeping  Miss  Jillgall  in 
ignorance  of  what  she  was  really  about,  and  Miss  Jillgall’s 


234 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


admirable  confidence  in  the  integrity  of  Mrs.  Tenbrug- 
gen,  being  now  set  forth  on  the  best  authority,  an  exact 
presentation  of  the  state  of  affairs  will  be  completed  if  I 
add  a  word  more,  relating  to  the  positions  actually  occu¬ 
pied  towards  Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  enterprise,  by  my  cor¬ 
respondent  and  myself. 

On  her  side,  Miss  Jillgall  was  entirely  ignorant  that  one 
of  the  two  girls  was  not  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  daughter,  but 
his  adopted  child.  On  my  side,  I  was  entirely  ignorant 
of  Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  purpose  in  endeavoring  to  identify 
the  daughter  of  the  murderess.  Speaking  of  myself,  in¬ 
dividually,  let  me  add  that  I  only  waited  the  event  to 
protect  the  helpless  ones — my  poor  lost  friend,  and  the 
orphan  whom  his  mercy  had  received  into  his  heart  and 
his  home. 

Miss  Jillgall  goes  on  with  her  curious  story,  as  follows: 

“  Always  desirous  of  making  myself  useful,  I  thought 
I  would  give  my  dear  Elizabeth  a  hint  which  might  save 
time  and  trouble.  Why  not  begin,  I  suggested,  by  asking 
the  Governor  to  help  you  ?  That  wonderful  woman  never 
forgets  anything.  She  had  already  applied  to  you,  with¬ 
out  success. 

“  In  my  next  attempt  to  be  useful  I  did  violence  to  my 
most  cherished  convictions,  by  presenting  the  wretch 
Helena  to  the  admirable  Elizabeth.  That  the  former 
would  be  as  cold  as  ice,  in  her  reception  of  any  friend  of 
mine,  was  nothing  wonderful.  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  passed 
it  over  with  the  graceful  composure  of  a  woman  of  the 
world.  In  the  course  of  conversation,  she  slipped  in  a 
question:  “Might  I  ask,  Miss  Helena,  if  you  are  older 
than  your  sister?’  The  answer  was  of  course:  ‘I  don’t 
know.’  And  here,  for  once,  the  most  deceitful*. girl  in 
existence  spoke  the  truth. 

“When  we  were  alone  again,  Elizabeth  made  a  remark  : 

‘  If  personal  appearance  could  decide  the  question,’  she 
said,  ‘  the  disagreeable  young  woman  is  the  older  of  the 
two.’  The  next  thing  to  be  done  is  to  discover  if  looks 
are  to  be  trusted  in  this  case. 

“  My  friend’s  lawyer  received  confidential  instructions 
(not  shown  to  me,  which  seems  rather  hard)  to  trace  the 
two  Miss  Gracedieus’  registers  of  birth. 

“His  report  arrived  this  morning.  I  was  only  informed 
that  the  result,  in  one  case,  had  entirely  defeated  the  in 
quiries.  In  the  other  case,  Elizabeth  had  helped  her 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


235 


agent  by  referring  him  to  to  a  birth,  advertised  in  the 
customary  column  of  the  Times  newspaper.  Even  here, 
there  was  an  obstacle.  The  name  .of  the  place  in  which 
Mr.  Gracedieu’s  daughter  had  been  born  was  not  added 
as  usual. 

“  By  comparison  of  dates,  and  by  other  clever  means  of 
investigation,  the  lawyer  had  found  out  the  circuit  in 
which  Mr.  Gracedieu  was  employed  at  the  time  of  the 
birth.  The  registers  at  every  place  of  worship  in  the 
town  had  been  searched,  and  no  entry  discovered.  ‘If 
we  could  feel  sure  that  the  birth  has  been  registered,'  the 
lawyer  reported,  ‘  and  if  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  can  afford  the 
expense,  we  might  search  for  the  entry  we  want  in  every 
church  and  chapel,  in  a  succession  of  circles  traced  round 
the  town  as  a  centre.  Have  you  the  necessary  patience, 
Madam,  and  the  necessary  cash  ?.’  Alas  for  Elizabeth  ! 
she  had  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  Isn’t  it  provoking? 

“I  tried  to  be  useful  for  the  third  time.  Had  my 
friend  known  the  Minister’s  wife?  My  friend  had  never 
even  seen' the  Minister’s  wife.  And,  as  if  by  a  fatality, 
her  portrait  was  no  longer  in  existence.  I  could  only 
mention  that  Helena  was  like  her  mother.  But  Elizabeth 
seemed  to  attach  very  little  importance  to  my  evidence, 
if  I  may  call  it  by  so  grand  a  name.  ‘  People  have  such 
strange  ideas  about  likenesses,’  she  said,  ‘  and  arrive  at 
such  contradictory  conclusions.  One  can  only  trust  one’s 
own  eyes  in  a  matter  of  that  kind.’ 

“  My  friend  next  asked  me  about  our  domestic  estab¬ 
lishment.  We  had  only  a  cook  and  a  housemaid.  If  they 
were  old  servants  who  had  known  the  girls  as  children, 
they  might  be  made  of  some  use.  Our  luck  -was  as 
steadily  against  us  as  ever.  They  had  both  been  engaged 
when  Mr.  Gracedieu  entered  on  duty  in  his  present 
circuit.  ' 

“After  this  last  defeat  of  our  hopes,  I  asked  Elizabeth 
what  she  proposed  to  do  next. 

“  She  deferred  her  answer,  until  I  had  first  told  her 
whether  the  visit  of  the  doctor  might  be  expected  on  that 
day.  I  could  reply  to  this  in  the  negative.  Elizabeth, 
thereupon,  made  a  startling  request  ;  she  begged  me  to 
introduce  her  to  Mr.  Gracedieu. 

“I  said:  ‘  Surely,  you  have  forgotten  the  sad  state  of 
his  mind  ?’  No  ;  she  knew  perfectly  well  that  he  was  im¬ 
becile.  ‘I  want  to  try,’  she  explained,  ‘if  I  can  rouse  him 
for  a  few  minutes.’ 


236 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


“  ‘  By  Massage  ?  ’  I  inquired. 

“  She  burst  out  laughing.  ‘  Massage,  my  dear,  doesn’t 
act  in  that  way.  It  is  an  elaborate  process,  pursued  pa¬ 
tiently  for  weeks  together.  But  my  hands  have  more 
than  one  accomplishment  at  their  finger  ends.  Oh,  make 
your  mind  easy!  I  shall  do  no  harm,  if  I  do  no  good. 
Take  me,  Selina,  to  the  Minister.’ 

“  We  went  to  his  room.  Don’t  blame  me  for  giving 
way;  I  am  too  fond  of  Elizabeth  to  be  able  to  disappoint 
her. 

“  It  was  a  sad  sight  when  we  went  in.  He  was  quite 
happy,  playing  like  a  child  at  cup-and-ball.  The  attend¬ 
ant  retired  at  my  request.  I  introduced  Mrs.  Tenbrug- 
gen.  He  smiled  and  shook  hands  with  her.  He  said  : 
‘Are  you  a  Christian  or  a  Pagan?  You  are  very  pretty. 
How  many  times  can  you  catch  the  ball  in  the  cup?’ 
The  effort  to  talk  to  her  ended  there.  He  went  on  with 
his  game,  and  seemed  to  forget  that  there  was  anybody 
in  the  room.  It  made  my  heart  ache  to  remember  what 
he  was — and  to  see  him  now. 

“  Elizabeth  whispered  :  ‘  Leave  me  alone  with  him.’ 

“  I  don’t  know  why  I  did  such  a  rude  thing — I  hesi¬ 
tated. 

“Elizabeth  asked  me  if  I  had  no  confidence  in  her.  I 
was  ashamed  of  myself  ;  I  left  them  together. 

“A  long  half-hour  passed.  Feeling  a  little  uneasy,  I 
went  upstairs  again,  and  looked  into  the  room.  He  was 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  ;  his  plaything  was  on  the  floor, 
and  he  was  looking  vacantly  at  the  light  that  came  in 
through  the  window.  I  found  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  in  the  act  of  ringing  the  bell. 
Nothing  in  the  least  out  of  the  ordinary  way  seemed  to 
have  happened.  When  the  attendant  had  answered  the 
bell,  we  left  the  room  together.  Mr.  Gracedieu  took  no 
notice  of  us. 

“  ‘  Well,’  I  said,  ‘  how  has  it  ended  ?  ’ 

“  Quite  calmly,  my  noble  Elizabeth  answered:  ‘In 
total  failure.’ 

“  ‘  What  did  you  say  to  him  after  you  sent  me  away  ?’ 

“  ‘  I  tried,  in  every  possible  way,  to  get  him  to  tell  me 
which  of  his  two  daughters  was  the  older.’ 

“  ‘  Did  he  refuse  to  answer  ?  ’ 

“  ‘  He  was  only  too  ready  to  answer.  First,  he  said 
Helena  was  the  older — then  he  corrected  himself,  and 
declared  that  Eunice  was  the  older — then  he  said  they 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


237 


were  twins — then  he  went  back  to  Helena  and  Eunice. 
Now  one  was  the  older,  and  now  the  other.  He  rang 
the  changes  on  those  two  names,  I  can’t  tell  you  how 
often,  and  seemed  to  think  it  a  better  game  than  cup-and- 
ball.” 

“  ‘  What  is  to  be  done  ?  ’ 

“  ‘  Nothing  is  to  be  done,  Selina.’ 

“  ‘  What  !’  I  cried,  ‘you  give  it  up  21. 

“  My  heroic  friend  answered  :  ‘  I  know  when  I  am 
beaten,  my  dear — I  give  it  up.’  She  looked  at  her  watch; 
it  was  time  to  operate  on  the  muscles  of  one  of  her 
patients.  Away  she  went,  on  her  glorious  mission  of 
Massage,  without  a  murmur  of  regret.  What  strength 
of  mind!  But,  oh,  dear,  what  a  disappointment  for  poor 
little  me!  On  one  thing  I  am  determined.  If  I  find  my¬ 
self  getting  puzzled  or  frightened  I  shall  instantly  write 
to  you.” 

With  that  expression  of  confidence  in  me,  Selina’s  nar¬ 
rative  came  to  an  end.  I  wish  I  could  have  believed,  as 
she  did,  that  the  object  of  her  admiration  had  been  tell¬ 
ing  her  the  truth. 

A  few  days  later,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  honored  me  with 
a  visit  at  my  house  in  the  neighborhood  of  London. 
Thanks  to  this  circumstance,  I  am  able  to  add  a  postscript, 
which  will  complete  the  revelations  in  Miss  Jillgall’s  letter. 

The  illustrious  Masseuse,  having  much  to  conceal  from 
her  faithful  Selina,  was  well  aware  that  she  had  only  one 
thing  to  keep  hidden  from  me — namely  :  the  advantage 
which  she  would  have  gained,  if  her  inquiries  had  met 
with  success. 

“I  thought  I  might  have  got  at  what  I  wanted,”  she 
told  me,  “  by  mesmerizing  our  reverend  friend.  He  is  as 
weak  as  a  woman;  I  threw  him  into  hysterics,  and  had  to 
give  it  up,  and  quiet  him,  or  he  would  have  alarmed  the 
house.  You  look  as  if  you  don’t  believe  in  mesmerism.” 

“  My  looks,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen,  exactly  express  my  opin¬ 
ion.  Mesmerism  is  humbug.” 

“You  amusing  old  Tory!  Shall  I  throw  you  into  a 
state  of  trance?  No!  I’ll  give  you  a  shock  of  another 
kind — a  shock  of  surprise.  I  know  as  much  as  you  do 
about  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  daughters.  What  do  you  think  of 
that  ?” 

“  I  think  I  should  like  to  hear  you  tell  me  which  is  the 
adopted  child.” 


238 


THE  LEGACY  OF  VAIN. 


“  Helena,  to  be  sure  !” 

Her  manner  was  defiant,  her  tone  was  positive  ;  I 
doubted  both.  Under  the  surface  of  her  assumed  confi¬ 
dence,  I  saw  something  which  told  me  that  she  was  try¬ 
ing  to  read  my  thoughts  in  my  face.  Many  other  women 
had  tried  to  do  that.  They  succeeded  when  I  was  young. 
When  I  had  reached  the  wrong  side  of  fifty,  my  face  had 
learned  discretion,  and  they  failed. 

“  How  did  you  arrive  at  your  discovery  ?”  I  asked.  “  I 
know  of  nobody  who  could  have  helped  you.” 

“  I  helped  myself,  sir  !  I  reasoned  it  out.  A  wonder¬ 
ful  thing  for  a  woman  to  do,  isn’t  it?  I  wonder  whether 
you  could  follow  the  process  ?” 

My  reply  to  this  was  made  by  a  bow.  I  was  sure  of 
my  command  over  my  face;  but  perfect  control  of  the 
voice  is  a  rare  power.  Here  and  there,  a  great  actor  or  a 
great  criminal  possesses  it. 

Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  vanity  took  me  into  her  confidence. 
“  In  the  first  place,”  she  said,  “  Helena  is  plainly  the 
wicked  one  of  the  two.  I  was  not  prejudiced  by  what 
Selina  had  told  me  of  her  ;  I  saw  it,  and  felt  it,  before  I 
had  been  five  minutes  in  her  company.  If  lying  tongues 
ever  provoke  her,  as  lying  tongues  provoked  her  mother, 
she  will  follow  her  mother’s  example.  Very  well.  Now 
— in  the  second  place — though  it  is  very  slight,  there  is  a 
certain  something  in  her  hair  and  her  complexion  which 
reminds  me  of  the  murderess  :  there  is  no  other  resem¬ 
blance,  I  admit.  In  the  third  place,  the  girls’  names  point 
to  the  same  conclusion.  Mr.  Gracedieu  is  a  Methodist. 
Would  he  call  a  child  of  his  own  by  the  name  of  a  Roman 
Catholic  saint?  No!  he  would  prefer  a  name  in  the 
Bible  ;  Eunice  is  his  child.  And  Helena  was  once  the 
baby  whom  I  carried  into  the  prison.  Do  you  deny 
that?” 

“  I  don’t  deny  it.” 

Only  four  words  !  But  they  were  deceitfully  spoken, 
and  the  deceit — practised  in  Eunice’s  interests,  it  is  need¬ 
less  to  say — succeeded.  Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  object  in 
visiting  me  was  attained;  I  had  confirmed  her  belief  in 
the  delusion  that  Helena  was  the  adopted  child. 

She  got  up  to  take  her  leave.  I  asked  if  she  proposed 
remaining  in  London.  No;  she  was  returning  to  her 
country  patients  that  night.  Her  errand  in  the  Metropo¬ 
lis  (well  paid,  as  she  took  occasion  to  inform  me)  was  to 
see  a  suffering  lady,  despaired  of  by  the  doctors,  and  to 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


239 


decide  whether  Massage  might  be  tried  as  a  forlorn  hope. 
Mrs.  Tenbruggen,  as  an  act  of  duty  towards  her  profes¬ 
sional  self,  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  a  desper¬ 
ate  case. 

As  I  attended  her  to  the  house  door,  she  turned  to  me 
with  her  mischievous  smile.  “  I  have  taken  some  trouble 
in  finding  the  clue  to  the  Minister’s  mystery,”  she  said. 
“  Don  t  you  wonder  why  ?” 

“  If  I  did  wonder,”  I  answered,  “  would  you  tell  me 
why  ?” 

She  laughed  at  the  bare  idea  of  it.  “Another  lesson,” 
she  said,  “  to  assist  a  helpless  man  in  studying  the  weaker 
sex.  I  have  already  shown  you  that  a  woman  can  reason. 
Learn  next  that  a  woman  can  keep  a  secret.  Good-bye. 
God  bless  you.” 

Of  the  events  which  followed  Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  visit 
it  is  not  possible  for  me,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  to  speak 
from  personal  experience.  Ought  I  to  conclude  with  an 
expression  of  repentance  for  the  act  of  deception  to  which 
I  have  already  pleaded  guilty?  I  don’t  know.  Yes! 
the  force  of  circumstances  does  really  compel  me  to 
say  it,  and  say  it  seriously — I  don’t  know. 


THIRD  PERIOD. 

CHAPTER  LII. 

Helena’s  diary  resumed. 

While  my  father  remains  in  his  present  helpless  con¬ 
dition,  somebody  must  assume  a  position  of  command  in 
this  house.  There  cannot  be  a  moment’s  doubt  that  I  am 
the  person. 

In  my  agitated  state  of  mind,  sometimes  doubtful  of 
Philip,  sometimes  hopeful  of  him,  I  find  Mrs.  Tenbruggen 
simply  unendurable.  A  female  doctor  is,  under  any  cir¬ 
cumstances,  a  creature  whom  I  detest.  She  is,  at  her 
very  best,  a  bad  imitation  of  a  man.  The  Medical  Rubber 
is  worse  than  this;  she  is  a  bad  imitation  of  a  mountebank. 
Her  grinning  good-humor,  adopted  no  doubt  to  please  the 
fools  who  are  her  patients,  and  her  impudent  enjoyment 
of  hearing  herself  talk,  make  me  regret  for  the  first  time 


240 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


in  my  life  that  I  am  a  young  lady.  If  I  belonged  to  the 
lowest  order  of  the  population,  I  might  take  the  first  stick 
I  could  find,  and  enjoy  the  luxury  of  giving  Mrs.  Ten- 
bruggen  a  good  beating. 

She  literally  haunts  the  house,  encouraged  of  course  by 
her  wretched  little  dupe,  Miss  Jillgall.  Only  this  morning, 
I  tried  what  a  broad  hint  would  do  towards  suggesting 
that  her  visits  had  better  come  to  an  end. 

“Really,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen,”  I  said,  “  I  must  request 
Miss  Jillgall  to  moderate  her  selfish  enjoyment  of  your 
company,  for  your  own  sake.  Your  time  is  too  valuable, 
in  a  professional  sense,  to  be  wasted  on  an  idle  woman 
who  has  no  sympathy  with  your  patients,  waiting  for  re¬ 
lief  perhaps,  and  waiting  in  vain.” 

She  listened  to  this,  all  smiles  and  good-humor  :  “My 
dear,  do  you  know  how  I  might  answer  you,  if  I  was  an 
ill-natured  woman  ?” 

“I  have  no  curiosity  to  hear  it,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen.” 

“  I  might  ask  you,”  she  persisted,  “  to  allow  me  to  mind 
my  own  business.  But  I  am  incapable  of  making  an  un¬ 
grateful  return  for  the  interest  which  you  take  in  my 
medical  welfare.  Let  me  venture  to  ask  if  you  under¬ 
stand  the  value  of  time.” 

“Are  you  going  to  say  much  more,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  ?” 

“I  am  going  to  make  a  sensible  remark,  my  child.  If 
you  feel  tired,  permit  me — here  is  a  chair.  Father  Time, 
dear  Miss  Gracedieu,  has  always  been  a  good  friend  of 
mine,  because  I  know  how  to  make  the  best  use  of  him. 
The  author  of  the  famous  saying  Tempus  fugit  (you  under¬ 
stand  Latin,  of  course)  was,  I  take  leave  to  think,  an  idle 
man.  The  more  I  have  to  do,  the  readier  Time  is  to  wait 
for  me.  Let  me  impress  this  on  your  mind  by  some 
interesting  examples.  The  greatest  conqueror  of  the 
century — Napoleon — had  time  enough  for  everything. 
The  greatest  novelist  of  the  century — Sir  Walter  Scott — 
had  time  enough  for  everything.  At  my  humble  distance, 
I  imitate  those  illustrious  men,  and  my  patients  never 
complain  of  me.” 

“  Have  you  done  ?”  I  asked. 

“Yes,  dear — for  the  present.” 

“You  are  a  clever  woman,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen — and  you 
know  it.  You  have  an  eloquent  tongue,  and  you  know  it. 
But  you  are  something  else,  which  you  don’t  seem  to  be 
aware  of.  You  are  a  Bore.” 

She  burst  out  laughing,  with  the  air  of  a  woman  who 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


241 


thoroughly  enjoyed  a  good  joke.  I  looked  back  when  I 
left  the  room,  and  saw  the  friend  of  Father  Time  in  the 
easy  chair  opening  our  newspaper. 

This  is  a  specimen  of  the  customary  encounter  of  our 
wits.  I  place  it  on  record  in  my  journal,  to  excuse  my¬ 
self  to  myself.  When  she  left  us  at  last,  later  in  the  day, 
I  sent  a  letter  after  her  to  the  hotel.  Not  having  kept  a 
copy  of  it,  let  me  present  the  substance,  like  a  sermon, 
under  three  heads:  I  begged  to  be  excused  for  speaking 
plainly  ;  I  declared  that  there  was  a  total  want  of  sym¬ 
pathy  between  us,  on  my  side  ;  and  I  proposed  that  she 
should  deprive  me  of  future  opportunities  of  receiving  her 
in  this  house.  The  reply  arrived  immediately  in  these 
terms  :  “Your  letter  received,  dear  girl.  I  am  not  in  the 
least  angry;  partly  because  I  am  very  fond  of  you,  partly 
because  I  know  that  you  will  ask  me  to  come  back  again. 
P.S.:  Philip  sends  his  love.” 

This  last  piece  of  insolence  was  unquestionably  a  lie. 
Philip  detests  her.  They  are  both  staying  at  the  same 
hotel.  But  I  happen  to  know  that  he  won’t  even  look  at 
her,  if  they  meet  by  accident  on  the  stairs. 

People  who  can  enjoy  the  melancholy  spectacle  of 
human  nature  in  a  state  of  degradation  would  be  at  a  loss 
which  exhibition  to  prefer — an  ugly  old  maid  in  a  rage, 
or  an  ugly  old  maid  in  tears.  Miss  Jillgall  presented 
herself  in  both  characters  when  she  heard  what  had 
happened.  To  my  mind,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  bosom- 
friend  is  a  creature  not  fit  to  be  seen  or  heard  when  she 
loses  her  temper.  I  only  told  her  to  leave  the  room.  To 
my  great  amusement,  she  shook  her  bony  fist  at  me,  and 
expressed  a  devout  wish:  “Oh,  if  I  was  rich  enough  to 
leave  this  wicked  house!”  I  wonder  whether  there  is 
insanity  (as  well  as  poverty)  in  Miss  Jillgall’s  family? 

Last  night  my  mind  was  in  a  harassed  state.  Philip  was, 
as  usual,  the  cause  of  it. 

Perhaps  I  acted  indiscreetly  when  I  insisted  on  his  leav¬ 
ing  London,  and  returning  to  this  place.  But  what  else 
could  I  have  done  ?  It  was  not  merely  my  interest,  it  was 
an  act  of  downright  necessity,  to  withdraw  him  from  the 
influence  of  his  hateful  father — whom  I  now  regard  as  the 
one  serious  obstacle  to  my  marriage.  There  is  no  pros¬ 
pect  of  being  rid  of  him  by  his  returning  to  Ireland.  He 
is  trying  a  new  remedy  for  his  crippled  hand — electricity. 
I  wish  it  was  lightning,  to  kill  him!  If  I  had  given  that 
wicked  old  man  the  chance,  I  am  firmly  convinced  he 


242 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


would  not  have  let  a  day  pass  without  doing  his  best  to 
depreciate  me  in  his  son’s  estimation.  Besides,  there  was 
the  risk,  if  I  bad  allowed  Philip  to  remain  long  away  from 
me,  of  losing — no,  while  I  keep  my  beauty  I  cannot  be  in 
such  danger  as  that — let  me  say,  of  permitting  time  and 
absence  to  weaken  mv  hold  on  him.  However  sullen  and 

J 

silent  he  may  be,  when  we  meet — and  I  find  him  in  that 
condition  far  too  often — I  can,  sooner  or  later,  recall  him 
to  his  brighter  self.  My  eyes  preserve  their  charm,  my 
talk  can  still  amuse  him,  and,  better  even  than  that,  I  feel 
the  answering  thrill  in  him,  which  tells  me  how  precious 
my  kisses  are — not  too  lavishly  bestowed  !  But  the  time 
when  I  am  obliged  to  leave  him  to  himself,  is  the  time 
that  I  dread.  How  do  I  know  that  his  thoughts  are  not 
wandering  away  to  Eunice?  He  denies  it  ;  he  declares 
that  he  only  went  to  the  farm-house  to  express  his  regret 
for  his  own  thoughtless  conduct,.  and  to  offer  her  the 
brotherly  regard  due  to  the  sister  of  his  promised  wife. 
Can  I  believe  it?  Oh,  what  would  I  not  give  to  be  able  to 
believe  it  !  How  can  I  feel  sure  that  her  refusal  to  see 
him  was  not  a  cunning  device  to  make  him  long  for  another 
interview,  and  plan  perhaps  in  private  to  go  back  and  try 
again.  Marriage  !  Nothing  will  quiet  these  frightful 
doubts  of  mine,  nothing  will  reward  me  for  all  that  I  have 
suffered,  nothing  will  warm  my  heart  with  the  delightful 
sense  of  triumph  over  Eunice,  but  my  marriage  to  Philip. 
And  what,  does  he  say,  when  I  urge  it  on  him  ? — yes,  I 
have  fallen  as  low  as  that,  in  the  despair  which  sometimes 
possesses  me.  He  has  his  answer,  always  the  same,  and 
always  ready  :  How  are  we  to  live?  where  is  the  money  ? 
The  maddening  part  of  it  is  that  I  cannot  accuse  him  of 
raising  objections  that  don’t  exist.  We  are  poorer  than 
ever  here,  since  my  father’s  illness — and  Philip’s  allow¬ 
ance  is  barely  enough  to  suffice  him  as  a  single  man.  Oh, 
how  I  hate  the  rich  ! 

It  was  useless  to  think  of  going  to  bed.  How  could  I 
hope  to  sleep,  with  my  head  throbbing,  and  my  thoughts 
in  this  disturbed  state  ?  I  put  on  my  comfortable  dress¬ 
ing-gown,  and  sat  down  to  try  what  reading  would  do  to 
quiet  my  mind. 

I  had  borrowed  the  book  from  the  Library,  to  which  I 
had  been  a  subscriber  in  secret  for  some  time  past.  It  was 
an  old  volume,  full  of  what  we  should  now  call  Gossip  ; 
relating  strange  adventures,  and  scandalous  incidents  in 
family  history  which  had  been  concealed  from  public  no- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN.  243 

tice.  One  of  these  last  romances  in  real  life  caught  a 
strong  hold  on  my  interest. 

It  was  a  strange  case  of  intended  poisoning,  which  had 
never  been  carried  out.  A  young  married  lady  of  rank, 
whose  name  was  concealed  under  an  initial  letter,  had 
suffered  some  unendurable  wrong  (which  was  not  men¬ 
tioned)  at  the  hands  of  her  husband’s  mother.  The  wife 
was  described  as  a  woman  of  strong  passions,  who  had 
determined  on  a  terrible  revenge  by  taking  the  life  of  her 
mother-in-law.  There  were  difficulties  in  the  way  of  her 
committing  the  crime  without  an  accomplice  to  help  her  ; 
and  she  decided  on  taking  her  maid,  an  elderly  woman, 
into  her  confidence.  The  poison  was  secretly  obtained 
by  this  person  ;  and  the  safest  manner  of  administering  it 
was  under  discussion  between  the  mistress  and  the  maid, 
when  the  door  of  the  room  was  suddenly  opened.  The 
husband,  accompanied  by  his  brother,  rushed  in,  and 
charged  his  wife  with  plotting  the  murder  of  his  mother. 
The  young  lady  (she  was  only  twenty-three  years  old) 
must  have  been  a  person  of  extraordinary  courage  and 
resolution.  She  saw  at  once  that  her  maid  had  betrayed 
her,  and,  with  astonishing  presence  of  mind,  she  turned 
on  the  traitress,  and  said  to  her  husband  :  “  There  is  the 
wretch  who  has  been  trying  to  persuade  me  to  poison 
your  mother !”  As  it  happened,  the  old  lady’s  tem¬ 
per  was  violent  and  overbearing  ;  and  the  maid  had  com¬ 
plained  of  being  ill-treated  by  her,  in  the  hearing  of  the 
other  servants.  The  circumstances  made  it  impossible  to 
decide  which  of  the  two  was  really  the  guilty  woman. 
The  servant  was  sent  away,  and  the  husband  and  wife 
separated  soon  afterwards,  under  the  excuse  of  incompat¬ 
ibility  of  temper.  Years  passed;  and  the  truth  was  only 
discovered  by  the  death-bed  confession  of  the  wife.  A 
remarkable  story,  which  has  made  such  an  impression  on 
me  that  I  have  written  it  in  my  journal.  I  am  not  rich 
enough  to  buy  the  book. 

For  the  last  two  davs,  I  have  been  confined  to  my  room 
with  a  bad  feverish  cold — caught,  as  I  suppose,  by  sitting 
at  an  open  window,  reading  my  book  to  nearly  three 
o’clock  in  the  morning.  I  sent  a  note  to  Philip,  telling 
him  of  my  illness.  On  the  first  day,  he  called  to  inquire 
after  me.  On  the  second  day,  no  visit,  and  no  letter.  Here 
is  the  third  day — and  no  news  of  him  as  yet.  I  am  better, 
but  not  fit  to  go  out.  Let  me  wait  another  hour,  and,  if 


244 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


that  exertion  of  patience  meets  with  no  reward,  I  shall 
send  a  note  to  the  hotel. 

No  news  of  Philip.  I  have  sent  to  the  hotel. 

The  servant  has  just  returned,  bringing  me  back  my 
note.  The  waiter  informed  her  that  Mr.  Dunboyne  had 
gone  away  to  London  by  the  morning  train.  No  apology 
or  explanation  left  for  me. 

Can  he  have  deserted  me?  I  am  in  such  a  frenzy  of 
doubt  and  rage  that  I  can  hardly  write  that  horrible  ques¬ 
tion.  It  is  possible — oh,  I  feel  it  is  possible  that  he  has 
gone  away  with  Eunice.  Do  I  know  where  to  find  them  ? 
If  I  did  know,  what  could  I  do  ?  Do  ?  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
kill  them  both  ! 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

After  the  heat  of  my  anger  had  cooled,  I  made  two 
discoveries.  One  cost  me  a  fee  to  a  messenger,  and  the 
other  exposed  me  to  the  insolence  of  a  servant.  I  pay 
willingly  in  my  purse  and  my  pride,  when  the  gain  is 
peace  of  mind.  Through  my  messenger  I  ascertained 
that  Eunice  had  never  left  the  farm.  Through  my  own 
inquiries,  answered  by  the  waiter  with  an  impudent  grin, 
I  heard  that  Philip  had  left  orders  to  have  his  room  kept 
for  him.  What  misery  our  stupid  housemaid  might  have 
spared  me,  if  she  had  thought  of  putting  that  question 
when  I  sent  her  to  the  hotel  ! 

The  rest  of  the  day  passed  in  vain  speculations  on 
Philip’s  motive  for  this  sudden  departure.  What  poor 
weak  creatures  we  are  !  I  persuaded  myself  to  hope  that 
anxiety  for  our  marriage  had  urged  him  to  make  an  effort 
to  touch  the  heart  of  his  mean  father.  Shall  I  see  him 
to-morrow  ?  And  shall  I  have  reason  to  be  fonder  of  him 
than  ever  ? 

We  met  again  to-day  as  usual.  He  has  behaved  in¬ 
famously. 

When  I  asked  what  had  been  his  object  in  going  to 
London,  I  was  told  that  it  was  “  a  matter  of  business.” 
He  made  that  idiotic  excuse  as  coolly  as  if  he  really 
thought  I  should  believe  it.  I  submitted  in  silence, 
rather  than  mar  his  return  to  me  by  the  disaster  of  a 
quarrel.  But  this  was  an  unlucky  day  A  harder  trial  of 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


245 


my  self-control  was  still  to  come.  Without  the  slightest 
appearance  of  shame,  Philip  informed  me  that  he  was 
charged  with  a  message  from  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  !  She 
wanted  some  Irish  lace,  and  would  I  be  so  good  as  to  tell 
her  which  was  the  best  shop  at  which  she  could  buy  it  ? 

Was  he  really  in  earnest?  “You,”  I  said,  “  who  dis¬ 
trusted  and  detested  her — you  are  on  friendly  terms  with 
that  woman  ?” 

He  remonstrated  with  me.  “My  dear  Helena,  don’t 
speak  in  that  way  of  Mrs.  Tenbruggen.  We  have  both 
been  mistaken  about  her.  That  good  creature  has  for¬ 
given  the  brutal  manner  in  which  I  spoke  to  her.  She 
was  the  first  to  propose  that  we  should  shake  hands  and 
forget  it.  My  darling,  don’t  let  all  the  good  feeling 
be  on  one  side.  You  have  no  idea  how  kindly  she  speaks 
of  you,  and  how  anxious  she  is  to  help  us  to  be  married. 
Come  !  come  !  meet  her  half  way.  Write  down  the  name 
of  the  shop  on  my  card,  and  I  will  take  it  back  to  her.” 

Sheer  amazement  kept  me  silent;  I  let  him  go  on.  He 
was  a  mere  child  in  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Tenbruggen:  she 
had  only  to  determine  to  make  a  fool  of  him,  and  she 
could  do  it. 

But  why  did  she  do  it  ?  What  advantage  had  she  to 
gain  by  insinuating  herself  in  this  way  into  his  good 
opinion,  evidently  with  the  intention  of  winning  her  way 
to  my  good  graces  as  well  ?  How  could  we  two  poor 
young  people  be  of  the  smallest  use  to  the  fashionable 
Masseuse  ? 

My  silence  began  to  irritate  Philip.  “  I  never  knew 
before  how  obstinate  you  could  be,”  he  said;  “  you  force 
me  to  tell  you  that  I  am  under  an  obligation  to  Mrs.  Ten¬ 
bruggen.  My  quarterly  allowance  won’t  be  payable  for  a 
month  to  come - ” 

“  You  don’t  mean  to  say  you  have  borrowed  money  of 
her  !”  I  burst  out. 

Without  the  slightest  appearance  of  embarrassment,  he 
answered:  “  Only  ten  pounds.” 

The  son  of  a  gentleman  taking  ten  pounds  from  an  ad¬ 
venturess,  ^nd  looking  as  if  he  congratulated  himself  on 
having  got  the  money  !  If  there  is  any  mean  thing  to  be 
done  in  our  interests,  after  we  have  become  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Dunboyne,  I  know  which  one  of  the  married  pair  will  do 
it. 

I  held  my  tongue;  I  assumed  my  smile.  It  is  all  very 
well  for  men  to  talk  about  the  deceitfulness  of  women. 


246 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


What  chance  (I  should  like  to  ask  somebody  who  knows 
about  it)  do  the  men  give  us  of  making  our  lives  with 
them  endurable,  except  by  deceit  ?  I  gave  way,  of  course, 
and  wrote  down  the  address  of  the  shop. 

He  was  so  pleased  that  he  kissed  me.  Yes  !  the  most 
fondly  affectionate  kiss  that  he  had  given  me,  for  weeks 
past,  was  my  reward  for  submitting  to  Mrs.  Tenbruggen. 
She  is  old  enough  to  be  his  mother,  and  almost  as  ugly 
as  Miss  Jillgall — and  she  has  made  her  interests  his  in¬ 
terests  already  ! 

On  the  next  day,  I  fully  expected  to  receive  a  visit  from 
Mrs.  Tenbruggen.  She  knew  better  than  that.  I  only 
got  a  polite  little  note,  thanking  me  for  the  address,  and 
adding  an  artless  confession:  “  I  earn  more  money  than 
I  know  what  to  do  with;  and  I  adore  Irish  lace.” 

The  next  day  came,  and  still  she  was  careful  not  to 
show  herself  too  eager  for  a  personal  reconciliation.  A 
splendid  nosegay  was  sent  to  me,  with  another  little  note: 
“  A  tribute,  dear  Helena,  offered  by  one  of  my  grateful 
patients.  Too  beautiful  a  present  for  an  old  woman  like 
me.  I  agree  with  the  poet:  ‘  Sweets  to  the  sweet.’  A 
charming  thought  of  Shakspere’s,  is  it  not  ?  I  should 
like  to  verify  the  quotation.  Would  you  mind  leaving 
the  volume  for  me  in  the  hall,  if  I  call  to-morrow  ?” 

Well  done,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  !  She  doesn’t  venture  to 
intrude  on  Miss  Gracedieu  in  the  drawing-room;  she 
only  wants  to  verify  a  quotation  in  the  hall.  Oh,  goddess 
of  Humility  (if  there  is  such  a  person),  how  becomingly 
you  are  dressed  when  your  milliner  is  an  artful  old 
woman  ! 

While  this  reflection  was  passing  through  my  mind, 
Miss  Jillgall  came  in — saw  the  nosegay  on  the  table — 
and  instantly  pounced  on  it.  “  Oh,  for  me  !  for  me  !” 
she  cried.  “  I  noticed  it  this  morning  on  Elizabeth’s 
table.  How  very  kind  of  her  !”  She  plunged  her  inquisi¬ 
tive  nose  into  the  poor  flowers,  and  looked  up  sentimen¬ 
tally  at  the  ceiling.  “  The  perfume  of  goodness,”  she  re¬ 
marked,  “  mingled  with  the  perfume  of  flowers  !”  “When 
)rou  have  quite  done  with  it,”  I  said,  “  perhaps  you  will 
be  so  good  as  to  return  my  nosegay?”  “Your  nosegay  !” 
she  exclaimed.  “There  is  Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  letter,”  I 
replied,  “  if  you  would  like  to  look  at  it.”  She  did  look 
at  it.  All  the  bile  in  her  body  flew  up  into  her  eyes,  and 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


247 


turned  them  green;  she  looked  as  if  she  longed  to  scratch 
my  face.  I  gave  the  flowers  afterwards  to  Maria;  Miss 
Jillgall’s  nose  had  completely  spoilt  them. 

It  would  have  been  too  ridiculous  to  have  allowed  Mrs. 
Tenbruggen  to  consult  Shakspere  in  the  hall.  I  had  the 
honor  of  receiving  her  in  my  own  room.  We  accomplished 
a  touching  reconciliation,  and  we  quite  forgot  Shakspere. 

She  troubles  me;  she  does  indeed  trouble  me.  Having 
set  herself  entirely  right  with  Philip,  she  is  determined 
on  performing  the  same  miracle  with  me.  Her  reform  of 
herself  is  already  complete.  Her  vulgar  humor  was  kept 
under  strict  restraint;  she  was  quiet  and  well-bred,  and 
readier  to  listen  than  to  talk.  This  change  was  not  pre¬ 
sented  abruptly.  She  contrived  to  express  her  friendly 
interest  in  Philip  and  in  me  by  hints  dropped  here  and 
there,  assisted  in  their  effect  by  answers  on  my  part,  into 
which  I  was  tempted  so  skilfully  that  I  only  discovered  the 
snare  set  for  me  on  reflection.  What  is  it,  I  ask  again, 
that  she  has  in  view  in  taking  all  this  trouble?  Where 
is  her  motive  for  encouraging  a  love-affair,  which  Miss 
Jillgall  must  have  denounced  to  her  as  an  abominable 
wrong  inflicted  on  Eunice?  Money  (even  if  there  was  a 
prospect  of  such  a  thing,  in  our  case)  cannot  be  her  object; 
it  is  quite  true  that  her  success  sets  her  above  pecuniary 
anxiety.  Spiteful  feeling  against  Eunice  is  out  of  the 
question.  They  have  only  met  once;  and  her  opinion  was 
expressed  to  me  with  evident  sincerity:  “  Your  sister  is  a 
nice  girl,  but  she  is  like  other  nice  girls — she  doesn’t  inter¬ 
est  me.”  There  is  Eunice’s  character,  drawn  from  the  life 
in  few  words.  In  what  an  irritating  position  do  I  find 
myself  placed!  Never  before  have  I  felt  so  interested  in 
trying  to  look  into  a  person’s  secret  mind;  and  never  be¬ 
fore  have  I  been  so  completely  baffled. 

I  had  written  as  far  as  this,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
closing  my  journal,  whefi  a  third  note  arrived  from  Mrs. 
Tenbruggen. 

She  had  been  thinking  about  me  at  intervals  (she 
wrote)  all  through  the  rest  of  the  day;  and,  kindly  as  I 
had  received  her,  she  was  conscious  of  being  the  object  of 
doubts  on  my  part  which  her  visit  had  failed  to  lemove. 
Might  she  ask  leave  to  call  on  me,  in  the  hope  of  impiov- 
ing  her  position  in  my  estimation?  An  appointment 
followed  for  the  next  day. 

What  can  she  have  to  say  to  me  which  she  has  not  all  eady 
said?  Is  it  anything  about  Philip,  I  wonder? 


248 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

At  our  interview  of  the  next  day,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s 
capacity  for  self-reform  appeared  under  a  new  aspect. 
She  dropped  all  familiarity  with  me,  and  she  stated  the 
object  of  her  visit  without  a  superfluous  word  of  explana¬ 
tion  or  apology. 

I  thought  this  a  remarkable  effort  for  a  woman;  and  I 
recognized  the  merit  of  it  by  leaving  the  lion’s  share  of 
the  talk  to  my  visitor.  In  these  terms  she  opened  her 
business  with  me: 

“  Has  Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne  told  you  why  he  went  to 
London  ?” 

“  He  made  a  commonplace  excuse,”  I  answered.  “  Busi¬ 
ness,  he  said,  took  him  to  London.  I  know  no  more.” 

“You  have  a  fair  prospect  of  happiness,  Miss  Helena, 
when  you  are  married — your  future  husband  is  evidently 
afraid  of  you.  I  am  not  afraid  of  you;  and  I  shall  confide 
to  your  private  ear  something  which  you  have  an  interest 
in  knowing.  The  business  which  took  young  Mr.  Dun¬ 
boyne  to  London  was  to  consult  a  competent  person,  on 
a  matter  concerning  himself.  The  competent  person  is 
the  sagacious  (not  to  say  sly)  old  gentleman  whom  we 
used  to  call  The  Governor.  You  know  him,  I  believe?” 

“Yes.  But  I  am  at  a  loss  to  imagine  why  Philip  should 
have  consulted  him.” 

“  Have  you  ever  heard  or  read,  Miss  Helena,  of  such  a 
thing  as  ‘an  old  man’s  fancy’?” 

“  I  think  I  have.” 

“Well,  the  Governor  has  taken  an  old  man’s  fancy  to 
your  sister.  They  appeared  to  understand  each  other 
perfectly  when  I  was  at  the  farm-house.” 

“Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen,  that  is  what  I  know 
already.  Why  did  Philip  go  to  the  Governor?” 

She  smiled.  “If  anybody  is  acquainted  with  the  true 
state  of  your  sister’s  feelings,  the  Governor  is  the  man. 
I  sent  Mr.  Dunboyne  to  consult  him — and  there  is  the 
reason  for  it.” 

This  open  avowal  of  her  motives  perplexed  and  offended 
me.  After  declaring  herself  to  be  interested  in  my  mar¬ 
riage-engagement,  had  she  changed  her  mind,  and  re¬ 
solved  on  favoring  Philip’s  return  to  Eunice?  What 
right  had  he  to  consult  anybody  about  the  state  of  that 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN, 


249 


girl’s  feelings?  My  feelings  form  the  only  subject  of  in¬ 
quiry  that  was  properly  open  to  him.  I  should  have  said 
something  which  I  might  have  afterwards  regretted,  if 
Mrs.  Tenbruggen  had  allowed  me  the  opportunity.  For¬ 
tunately  for  both  of  us,  she  went  on  with  her  narrative  of 
her  own  proceedings. 

“Philip  Dunboyne  is  an  excellent  fellow,”  she  con¬ 
tinued;  “I  really  like  him — but  he  has  his  faults.  He 
sadly  wants  strength  of  purpose;  and  like  weak  men  in 
general,  he  only  knows  his  own  mind  when  a  resolute 
friend  takes  him  in  hand  and  guides  him.  I  am  his  reso¬ 
lute  friend.  I  saw  him  veering  about  between  you  and 
Eunice;  and  I  decided  for  his  sake — may  I  say  for  your 
sake  also? — on  putting  an  end  to  that  mischievous  state  of 
indecision.  You  have  the  claim  on  him;  you  are  the  right 
wife  for  him — and  the  Governor  was  (as  I  thought  likely 
from  what  I  had  myself  observed)  the  man  to  make  him 
see  it.  I  am  not  in  anybody’s  secrets;  it  was  pure  guess¬ 
work  on  my  part,  and  it  has  succeeded.  There  is  no  more 
doubt  now  about  Miss  Eunice’s  sentiments.  The  question 
is  settled.” 

“  In  my  favor  ?” 

“Certainly  in  your  favor — or  I  should  not  have  said 
a  word  about  it.” 

“Was  Philip’s  visit  kindly  received?  Or  did  the  old 
wretch  laugh  at  him  ?” 

“  My  dear  Miss  Gracedieu,  the  old  wretch  is  a  man  of 
the  world,  and  never  makes  mistakes  of  that  sort.  Before 
he  could  open  his  lips,  he  had  to  satisfy  himself  that  your 
lover  deserved  to  be  taken  into  his  confidence,  on  the 
delicate  subject  of  Eunice’s  sentiments.  He  arrived  at  a 
favorable  conclusion.  I  can  repeat  the  questions  and 
answers — after  putting  the  young  man  through  a  stiff 
examination — just  as  they  passed:  ‘May  I  inquire,  sir,  if 
she  has  spoken  to  you  about  me?  ’  ‘  She  has  often  spoken 

about  you.’  ‘  Did  "she  seem  to  be  angry  with  me?’  ‘  She 
is  too  good  and  too  sweet  to  be  angry  with  you,”  Do  you 
think  she  will  forgive  me?  ’  ‘She  has  forgiven  you.’  ‘Did 
she  say  so  herself?’  ‘Yes,  of  her  own  freewill.’  ‘Why 
did  she  refuse  to  see  me  when  I  called  at  the  farm  ?  ’  ‘  She 
had  her  own  reasons — good  reasons.’  ‘  Has  she  regretted 
it  since?’  ‘Certainly  not.’  ‘Is  it  likely  that  she  would 
consent,  if  I  proposed  a  reconciliation?  ’  ‘  I  put  that  ques¬ 
tion  to  her  myself.’  ‘  How  did  she  take  it,  sir?  ’  ‘  She  de¬ 
clined  to  take  it.’  ‘You  mean  that  she  declined  a  recon- 


250 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


ciliation?’  ‘Yes.’  ‘Are  you  sure  she  was  in  earnest?’  ‘I 
am  positively  sure.’  That  last  answer  seems,  by  young 
Dunbovne’s  own  confession,  to  have  been  enough,  and 
more  than  enough,  for  him.  He  got  up  to  go — and  then 
an  odd  thing  happened.  After  giving  him  the  most  un¬ 
favorable  answers,  the  Governor  patted  him  paternally 
on  the  shoulder,  arid  encouraged  him  to  hope.  ‘Before 
we  say  good-bye,  Mr.  Philip,  one  word  more.  If  I  was  as 
young  as  you  are,  I  should  not  despair.  ’  There  is  a  sudden 
change  of  front!  Who  can  explain  it?” 

The  Governor’s  resolution  to  reconcile  Philip  and  Eu¬ 
nice  explained  it,  of  course.  With  the  best  intentions 
(perhaps)  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  had  helped  that  design  by 
bringing  the  two  men  together.  “  Go  on,”  I  said,  “  I  am 
prepared  to  hear  next  that  Philip  has  paid  another  visit 
to  my  sister,  and  has  been  received  this  time.” 

I  must  say  this  for  her;  she  kept  her  temper  perfectly. 

“  He  has  not  been  to  the  farm,”  she  said,  “but  he  has 
done  something  nearly  as  foolish.  He  has  written  to 
your  sister.” 

“  And  he  has  received  a  favorable  reply,  of  course?” 

She  put  her  hand  into  the  pocket  of  her  dress. 

“There  is  your  sister’s  reply,”  she  said. 

Any  person  who  has  had  a  crushing  burden  lifted,  un¬ 
expectedly  and  instantly,  from  off  their  minds,  will  know 
what  I  felt  when  I  read  the  reply.  In  the  most  positive 
language,  Eunice  refused  to  correspond  with  Philip,  or  to 
speak  with  him.  The  concluding  words  proved  that  she 
was  in  earnest  :  “  You  are  engaged  to  Helena.  Consider 
me  as  a  stranger  until  you  are  married.  After  that  time 
you  will  be  my  brother-in-law,  and  then  I  may  pardon  you 
for  writing  to  me.” 

Nobody  who  knows  Eunice  would  have  supposed  that 
she  possessed  those  two  valuable  qualities — common  sense 
and  proper  pride.  It  is  pleasant  to  feel  that  I  can  now 
send  cards  to  my  sister  when  I  am  Mrs.  Philip  Dun- 
boyne. 

I  returned  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Tenbruggen,  with  the  sin- 
cerest  expressions  of  regret  for  having  doubted  her.  “] 
have  been  unworthy  of  your  generous  interest  in  me,”  I 
said;  “  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  offer  you  my  hand.” 

She  took  my  hand,  and  gave  it  a  good,  hearty  shake. 

“  Are  we  friends  ?”  she  asked,  in  the  simplest  and  pret¬ 
tiest  manner.  “  Then  let  us  be  easy  and  pleasant  again,” 
she  went  on.  “Will  you  call  me  Elizabeth;  and  shall  I 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


251 


call  you  Helena?  Very  well.  Now  I  have  got  something 
else  to  say;  another  secret  which  must  be  kept  from 
Philip  (I  call  him  by  his  name  now,  you  see)  for  a  fev 
days  more.  Your  happiness,  my  dear,  must  not  depend 
on  his  miserly  old  father.  He  must  have  a  little  income 
of  his  own  to  marry  on.  Among  the  hundreds  of  unfort¬ 
unate  wretches  whom  I  have  relieved  from  torture  of 
mind  and  body,  there  is  a  grateful  minority.  Small! 
small!  but  there  they  are.  I  have  influence  among  pow¬ 
erful  people;  and  I  am  trying  to  make  Philip  private  sec¬ 
retary  to  a  member  of  Parliament.  When  I  have  suc¬ 
ceeded,  you  shall  tell  him  the  good  news.” 

What  a  vile  humor  I  must  have  been  in,  at  the  time, 
not  to  have  appreciated  the  delightful  gayety  of  this  good 
creature  !  I  went  to  the  other  extreme  now,  and  behaved 
like  a  gushing  young  Miss  fresh  from  school.  I  kissed  her. 

She  burst  out  laughing.  “What a  sacrifice  !”  she  cried. 
“  A  kiss  for  me,  which  ought  to  have  been  kept  for  Philip! 
By-the-bye,  do  you  know  what  I  should  do,  Helena,  in 
your  place  ?  I  should  take  our  handsome  young  man  away 
from  that  hotel! 

“  I  will  do  anything  that  you  advise,”  I  said. 

“  And  you  will  do  well,  my  child.  In  the  first  place, 
the  hotel  is  too  expensive  for  Philip’s  small  means.  In 
the  second  place,  two  of  the  chambermaids  have  auda¬ 
ciously  presumed  to  be  charming  girls;  and  the  men,  my 
dear — well  !  well  !  I  will  leave  you  to  find  that  out  for 
yourself.  In  the  third  place,  you  want  to  have  Philip 
under  your  own  wing  ;  domestic  familiarity  will  make  him 
fonder  of  you  than  ever.  Keep  him  out  .of  the  sort  of 
company  that  he  meets  with  in  the  billiard-room  and  the 
smoking-room.  You  have  got  a  spare  bed  here,  I  know, 
and  your  poor  father  is  in  no  condition  to  use  his  author¬ 
ity  Make  Philip  one  of  the  family.” 

This  last  piece  of  advice  staggered  me.  I  mentioned 
the  Proprieties.  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  laughed  at  the  Proprie¬ 
ties. 

“  Make  Selina  of  some  use,”  she  suggested.  “While 
you  have  got  her  in  the  house,  Propriety  is  rampant. 
Why  condemn  poor  helpless  Philip  to  cheap  lodgings  ? 
Time  enough  to  cast  him  out  to  the  feather-bed  and  the 
fleas,  on  the  night  before  the  marriage.  Besides,  I  shall 
be  in  and  out  constantly — for  I  mean  to  cure  your  father. 
An  atmosphere  of  virtue  surrounds  Mama  Tenbruggen. 
Think  of  it.” 


252 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN \ 


CHAPTER  LV. 

I  did  think  of  it,  and  scandalous  consequences  followed. 
Philip  came  to  us  and  lived  in  our  house. 

Let  me  hasten  to  add  that  the  protest  of  Propriety 
was  duly  entered,  on  the  day  before  my  promised  hus¬ 
band  arrived.  Standing  in  the  doorway — nothing  would 
induce  her  to  take  a  chair,  or  even  to  enter  the  room — 
Miss  Jillgall  delivered  an  harangue.  Mrs.  Tenbruggen 
reported  it  in  her  pocket-book,  as  if  she  was  representing 
a  newspaper  at,  a  public  meeting.  Here  it  is,  copied  from 
her  notes: 

“  Miss  Helena  Gracedieu,  my  first  impulse  under  the 
present  disgusting  circumstances  was  to  leave  the  house, 
and  earn  a  bare  crust  in  the  cheapest  garret  I  could  find 
in  the  town.  But  my  grateful  heart  remembers  Mr. 
Gracedieu.  My  poor  afflicted  cousin  was  good  to  me 
when  I  was  helpless.  I  cannot  forsake  him  when  he  is 
helpless.  At  whatever  sacrifice  of  my  own  self-respect,  I 
remain  under  this  roof  so  dear  to  me  for  the  Minister’s 
sake.  I  notice,  Miss,  that  you  smile.  I  see  my  once  dear 
Elizabeth,  the  friend  who  has  so  bitterly  disappointed 
me — ”  She  stopped  and  put  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes,  and  went  on  again — “  the  friend  who  has  so  bitterly 
disappointed  me,  taking  satirical  notes  of  what  I  say.  I 
am  not  ashamed  of  what  I  say.  The  virtue  which  will 
not  stretch  a  little,  where  the  motive  is  good,  is  feeble 
virtue  indeed.  I  shall  stay  in  the  house,  and  witness  hor¬ 
rors,  [and  rise  superior  to  them.  Good-morning,  Miss 
Gracedieu.  Good-morning,  Elizabeth.”  She  performed 
a  magnificent  curtsey,  and  (as  Mrs.  Tenbruggen’s  experi¬ 
ence  of  the  stage  informed  me)  made  a  very  creditable 
exit. 

A  week  has  passed,  and  I  have  not  opened  my  diary. 

My  days  have  glided  away  in  one  delicious  flow  of 
happiness.  Philip  has  been  delightfully  devoted  to  me. 
His  fervent  courtship,  far  exceeding  any  similar  attentions 
which  he  may  once  have  paid  to  Eunice,  has  shown  such 
variety  and  such  steadfastness  of  worship,  that  I  despair 
of  describing  it.  My  enjoyment  of  my  new  life  is  to  be 
felt — not  to  be  coldly  considered,  and  reduced  to  an  im¬ 
perfect  statement  in  words. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


253 


For  the  first  time  I  feel  capable,  if  the  circumstances 
encouraged  me,  of  acts  of  exalted  virtue.  For  instance,  I 
could  save  my  country  if  my  country  was  worth  it.  I 
could  die  a  martyr  to  religion  if  I  had  a  religion.  In  one 
word,  I  am  exceedingly  well  satisfied  with  myself. 

The  little  disappointments  of  life  pass  over  me  harm¬ 
less.  I  do  not  even  regret  the  failure  of  good  Mrs.  Ten- 
bruggen’s  efforts  to  find  an  employment  for  Philip,  worthy 
of  his  abilities  and  accomplishments.  The  member  of 
Parliament  to  whom  she  had  applied  has  chosen  a  secre¬ 
tary  possessed  of  political  influence.  That  is  the  excuse 
put  forward  in  his  letter  to  Mrs.  Tenbruggen.  Wretched 
corrupt  creature!  If  he  was  worth  a  thought  I  should 
pity  him.  He  has  lost  Philip’s  services. 

Three  days  more  have  slipped  by.  The  aspect  of  my 
heaven  on  earth  is  beginning  to  alter. 

Perhaps  the  author  of  that  wonderful  French  novel, 
L' Ame  Damnee ,  is  right  when  he  tells  us  that  human 
happiness  is  misery  in  masquerade.  It  would  be  wrong 
to  say  that  I  am  miserable.  But  I  may  be  on  the  way  to 
it;  I  am  anxious. 

To-day,  when  he  did  not  know  that  I  was  observing 
him,  I  discovered  a  preoccupied  look  in  Philip’s  eyes.  He 
laughed  when  I  asked  if  anything  had  happened  to  vex 
him.  Was  it  a  natural  laugh  ?  He  put  his  arm  round  me 
and  kissed  me.  Was  it  done  mechanically?  I  dare  say 
I  am  out  of  humor  myself.  I  think  I  had  a  little  head¬ 
ache.  Morbid,  probably.  I  won’t  think  of  it  any  more. 

It  has  occurred  to  me  this  morning  that  he  may  dislike 
being  left  by  himself,  while  I  am  engaged  in  my  house¬ 
hold  affairs.  If  this  is  the  case,  intensely  as  I  hate  her, 
utterly  as  I  loathe  the  idea  of  putting  her  in  command 
over  my  domestic  dominions,  I  shall  ask  Miss  Jillgall  to 
take  my  place  as  housekeeper. 

I  was  away  to-day  in  the  kitchen-regions  rather  longer 
than  usual.  When  I  had  done  with  my  worries,  Philip 
was  not  to  be  found.  Maria,  looking  out  of  one  of  the 
bedroom  windows  instead  of  doing  her  work,  had  seen 
Mr.  Dunboyne  leave  the  house.  It  was  possible  that  he 
had  charged  Miss  Jillgall  with  a  message  for  me.  I  asked 
if  she  was  in  her  room.  No;  she  too  had  gone  out.  It 
was  a  fine  day,  and  Philip  had  no  doubt  taken  a  little 
stroll — but  he  might  have  waited  till  I  could  join  him. 


254 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


There  were  some  orders  to  be  given  to  the  butcher  and 
the  greengrocer.  I  too  left  the  house,  hoping  to  get  rid 
of  some  little  discontent,  caused  by  thinking  of  what  had 
happened. 

Returning  by  way  of  High  Street — I  declare  I  can 
hardly  believe  it  even  now — I  did  positively  see  Miss 
Jill  gall  coming  out  of  a  pawnbroker’s  shop  ! 

The  direction  in  which  she  turned  prevented  her  from 
seeing  me.  She  was  quite  unaware  that  I  had  discovered 
her;  and  I  have  said  nothing  about  it  since.  But  I  noticed 
something  unusual  in  the  manner  in  which  her  watch- 
chain  was  hanging,  and  I  asked  her  what  o’clock  it  was. 
She  said,  “You  have  got  your  own  watch.”  I  told  her 
my  watch  had  stopped.  “  So  has  mine,”  she  said.  There 
is  no  doubt  about  it  now;  she  has  pawned  her  watch. 
What  for?  She  lives  here  for  nothing,  and  she  has  not 
had  a  new  dress  since  I  have  known  her.  Why  does  she 
want  money  ? 

Philip  had  not  returned  when  I  got  home.  Another 
mysterious  journey  to  London?  No.  After  an  absence 
of  more  than  two  hours,  he  came  back. 

Naturally  enough,  I  asked  what  he  had  been  about. 
He  had  been  taking  a  long  walk.  For  his  health’s  sake  ? 
No:  to  think.  To  think  of  what?  Well,  I  might  be  sur¬ 
prised  to  hear  it,  but  his  idle  life  was  beginning  to  weigh 
on  his  spirits;  he  wanted  employment.  Had  he  thought 
of  an  employment  ?  Not  yet.  Which  way  had  he  walked  ? 
Any  way;  he  had  not  noticed  where  he  went.  These  re¬ 
plies  were  all  made  in  a  tone  that  offended  me.  Besides, 
I  observed  there  was  no  dust  on  his  boots  (after  a  week 
of  dry  weather),  and  his  walk  of  two  hours  did  not  appear 
to  have  heated  or  tired  him.  I  took  an  opportunity  of 
consulting  Mrs.  Tenbruggen. 

She  had  anticipated  that  I  should  appeal  to  her  opinion, 
as  a  woman  of  the  world. 

I  shall  not  set  down  in  detail  what  she  said.  Some  of 
it  humiliated  me;  and  from  some  of* it  I  recoiled.  The 
expression  of  her  opinion  came  to  this.  In  the  absence  of 
experience,  a  certain  fervor  of  temperament  was  essential 
to  success  in  the  art  of  fascinating  men.  Either  my  tem¬ 
perament  was  deficient  or  my  intellect  overpowered  it. 
It  was  natural  that  I  should  suppose  myself  to  be  as  sus¬ 
ceptible  to  the  tender  passion  as  the  most  excitable  woman 
living.  Delusion,  my  Helena,  amiable  delusion  !  Had  I 
ever  observed,  or  had  any  friend  told  me,  that  my  pretty 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


255 


hands  were  cold  hands  ?  I  had  beautiful  eyes,  expressive 
of  vivacity,  of  intelligence,  of  every  feminine  charm,  ex¬ 
cept  the  one  inviting  charm  that  finds  favor  in  the  eyes  of 
a  man.  She  then  entered  into  particulars,  which  I  don’t 
deny  showed  a  true  interest  in  helping  me.  I  was  un¬ 
grateful,  sulky,  self-opinionated.  Dating  from  that  day’s 
talk  with  Mrs.  Tenbruggen,  my  new  friendship  began  to 
show  signs  of  having  caught  a  chill. 

But  I  did  my  best  to  follow  her  instructions — and 
failed. 

It  is  perhaps  true  that  my  temperament  is  overpowered 
by  my  intellect.  Or  it  is  possibly  truer  still  that  the  fire 
in  my  heart,  when  it  warms  to  love,  is  a  fire  that  burns 
low.  My  belief  is  that  I  surprised  Philip  instead  of 
charming  him.  He  responded  to  my  advances,  but  I  felt 
that  it  was  not  done  in  earnest,  not  spontaneous.  Had  I 
any  right  to  complain  ?  Was  I  in  earnest  ?  Was  I  spon¬ 
taneous  ?  We  were  making  love  to  each  other  under  false 
pretences.  Oh,  what  a  fool  I  was  to  ask  for  Mrs.  Ten- 
bruggen’s  advice  ! 

A  humiliating  doubt  has  come  to  me  suddenly.  Has 
his  heart  been  inclining  to  Eunice  again  ?  After  such  a 
letter  as  she  has  written  to  him  ?  Impossible  ! 

Three  events  since  yesterday,  which  I  consider,  trifling 
as  they  may  be,  intimations  of  something  wrong. 

First,  Miss  Jillgall,  who  at  one  time  was  eager  to  take 
my  place,  has  refused  to  relieve  me  of  my  houskeeping 
duties.  Secondly,  Philip  has  been  absent  again,  on 
another  long  walk.  Thirdly,  when  Philip  returned,  de¬ 
pressed  and  sulky,  I  caught  Miss  Jillgall  looking  at  him 
with  interest  and  pity  visible  in  her  skinny  face.  What 
do  these  things  mean  ? 

Not  one  of  them,  Philip  included,  cares  for  me — but  I 
can  frighten  them,  at  any  rate.  Yesterday  evening, 
I  dropped  on  the  floor  as  suddenly  as  if  I  had  been  shot  : 
a  fit  of  some  sort.  The  doctor  honestly  declared  that  he 
was  at  loss  to  account  for  it.  He  would  have  laid  me  un  ¬ 
der  an  eternal  obligation  if  he  had  failed  to  bring  me 
back  to  life  again. 

As  it  is,  I  am  more  clever  than  the  doctor.  What 
brought  the  fit  on  is  well  known  to  me.  Rage — furious, 
overpowering,  deadly  rage — was  the  cause.  I  am  now  in 
the  cold-blooded  state,  which  can  look  back  at  the  event 


256 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


as  composedly  as  if  it  had  happened  to  some  other  girl. 
Suppose  that  girl  had  let  her  sweetheart  know  how  she 
loved  him,  as  she  had  never  let  him  know  it  before.  Sup¬ 
pose  she  opened  the  door  again  the  instant  after  she  had 
left  the  room,  eager,  poor  wretch,  to  say  once  more,  for 
the  fiftieth  time,  “My  angel,  I  love  you  !”  Suppose  she 
found  her  angel  standing  with  his  back  towards  her,  so 
that  his  face  was  reflected  in  the  glass.  And  suppose  she 
discovered  in  that  face,  so  smiling  and  so  sweet  when  his 
head  had  rested  on  her  bosom  only  the  moment  before, 
the  most  hideous  expression  of  disgust  that  features  can 
betray.  What  are  the  consequences  which  might  be  ex¬ 
pected  to  follow?  Perhaps  she  might  drop  down  dead 
under  the  outrage  offered  to  her.  Perhaps  it  might  only 
be  a  fit.  And  when  she  recovered  from  the  fit,  what  next  ? 
Who  knows  ? 

I  am  in  a  fine  humor.  What  I  have  just  written  has  set 
me  laughing  at  myself.  Helena  Gracedieu  has  one  merit 
at  least — she  is  a  very  amusing  person. 

I  slept  last  night. 

This  morning,  I  am.  strong  again,  calm,  wickedly  capa¬ 
ble  of  deceiving  Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne,  as  he  has  deceived 
me.  He  has  not  the  faintest  suspicion  that  I  have  dis¬ 
covered  him.  I  wish  he  had  courage  enough  to  kill  some¬ 
body.  How  I  should  enjoy  hiring  the  nearest  window  to 
the  scaffold,  and  seeing  him  hanged  ! 

Miss  Jillgall  is  in  better  spirits  than  ever.  She  is  going 
to  take  a  little  holiday  ;  and  the  cunning  creature  makes 
a  mystery  of  it.  “  Good-bye,  Miss  Helena.  I  am  going 
to  stay  for  a  day  or  two  with  a  friend.”  What  friend  ? 
Who  cares  ? 


Last  night,  I  was  wakeful.  In  the  darkness  a  daring 
idea  came  to  me.  To  day,  I  have  carried  out  the  idea. 
Something  has  followed  which  is  well  worth  entering  in 
my  diary. 

I  left  the  room~at  the  usual  hour  for  attending  to  my 
domestic  affairs.  The  obstinate  cook  did  me  a  service  ; 
she  was  insolent ;  she  wanted  to  have  her  own  way.  I 
gave  her  her  own  way.  In  less  than  five  minutes  I  was 
on  the  watch  in  the  pantry,  which  has  a  view  of  the  house 
door.  My  hat  and  niy  p^rgsp)  jyere  waiting  for  me  on 
the  table,  in  case  of  my  going  out,  too, 

In  a  few  minutes  more,  I  heard  the  door  opened.  Mr. 


THE  LEGACY '  OF  CALK.  257 

Philip  Dunboyne  stepped  out.  He  was  going  to  take 
another  of  his  long  walks. 

I  followed  him  to  the  street  in  which  the  cabs  stand. 
He  hired  the  first  one  on  the  rank,  an  open  chaise  ;  while 
I  kept  myself  hidden  in  a  shop  door. 

The  moment  he  started  on  his  drive,  I  hired  a  closed 
cab.  “Double  your  fare,”  I  said  to  the  driver,  “whatever 
it  may  be,  if  you  follow  that  chaise  cleverly,  and  do  what 
I  tell  you.” 

He  nodded  and  winked  at  me.  A  wicked-looking  old 
fellow  ;  just  the  man  I  wanted. 

We  followed  the  chaise. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

When  we  had  left  the  town  behind  us,  the  coachman 
began  to  drive  more  slowly.  In  my  ignorance,  I  asked 
what  this  change  in  the  pace  meant.  He  pointed  with  his 
whip  to  the  open  road  and  to  the  chaise  in  the  distance. 

“If  we  keep  too  near  the  gentleman,  Miss,  he  has  only 
got  to  look  back,  and  he’ll  see  we  are  following  him.  The 
safe  thing  to  do  is  to  let  the  chaise  get  on  a  bit.  We  can’t 
lose  sight  of  it,  out  here.” 

I  had  felt  inclined  to  trust  in  the  driver's  experience, 
and  he  had  already  justified  my  confidence  in  him.  This 
encouraged  me  to  consult  his  opinion  on  a  matter  of  some 
importance  to  my  present  interests.  I  could  see  the 
necessity  of  avoiding  discovery  when  we  had  followed  the 
chaise  to  its  destination ;  but  I  was  totally  at  a  loss  to  know 
how  it  could  be  done.  My  wily  old  man  was  ready  with 
his  advice  the  moment  I  asked  for  it. 

“  Wherever  the  chaise  stops,  Miss,  we  must  drive  past 
it  as  if  we  were  going  somewhere  else.  I  shall  notice  the 
place  while  we  go  by;  and  you  will  please  sit  back  in  the 
corner  of  the  cab  so  that  the  gentleman  can’t  see  you.” 

“Well,”  I  said,  “and  what  next?” 

“  Next,  Miss,  I  shall  pull  up,  wherever  it  maybe,  out  of 
sight  of  the  driver  of  the  chaise.  He  bears  an  excellent 
character,  I  don’t  deny  it;  but  I’ve  known  him  for  years 
— and  we  had  better  not  trust  him.  I  shall  tell  you  where 
the  gentleman  stopped;  and  you  will  go  back  to  the  place 
(on  foot,  of  course),  and  see -for  yourself  what’s  to  be  done, 
specially  if  there  happens  to  be  a  lady  in  the  case.  No 


258 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


offence,  Miss;  it’s  my  experience  that  there’s  generally  a 
lady  in  the  case.  Anyhow,  you  can  judge  for  yourself, 
and  you’ll  know  where  to  find  me  waiting  when  you  want 
me  again.” 

“  Suppose  something  happens,”  I  suggested,  “  that  we 
don’t  expect?” 

“  I  shan’t  lose  my  head,  Miss,  whatever  happens.” 

“  All  very  well,  coachman;  but  I  have  only  your  word  for 
it.”  In  the  irritable  state  of  my  mind,  the  man’s  confident 
way  of  talking  annoyed  me. 

“  Begging  your  pardon,  my  young  lady,  you’ve  got  (if 
I  may  say  so)  what  they  call  a  guarantee.  When  I  was  a 
young  man,  I  drove  a  cab  in  London  for  ten  years.  Will 
that  do?” 

“  I  suppose  you  mean,”  I  answered,  “  that  you  have 
learned  deceit  in  the  wicked  ways  of  the  great  city.” 

He  took  this  as  a  compliment.  “Thank  you,  Miss.  That’s 
it  exactly.” 

After  a  long  drive,  or  so  it  seemed  to  my  impatience, 
we  passed  the  chaise  drawn  up  at  a  lonely  house,  sepa¬ 
rated  by  a  front  garden  from  the  road.  In  two  or  three 
minutes  more,  we  stopped  where  the  road  took  a  turn, 
and  descended  to  lower  ground.  The  farm-house  which 
we  had  left  behind  us  was  known  to  the  driver.  He  led 
the  way  to  a  gate  at  the  side  of  the  road,  and  opened  it 
for  me. 

“In  your  place,  Miss,”  he  said  slyly,  “the  private  way 
back  is  the  way  I  should  wish  to  take.  Try  it  by  the 
fields.  Turn  to  the  right  when  you  have  passed  the  barn, 
and  you’ll  find  yourself  at  the  back  of  the  house.”  He 
stopped  and  looked  at  his  big  silver  watch.  “Half-past 
twelve,”  he  said,  “the  Chawbacons — I  mean  the  farm-house 
servants,  Miss — will  be  at  their  dinner.  All  in  your  favor, 
so  far.  If  the  dog  happens  to  be  loose,  don’t  forget  that 
his  name’s  Grinder;  call  him  by  his  name,  and  pat  him 
before  he  has  time  enough  to  think,  and  he’ll  let  you  be. 
When  you  want  me,  here  you’ll  find  me  waiting  for 
orders.” 

I  looked  back  as  I  crossed  the  field.  The  driver  was 
sitting  on  the  gate,  smoking  his  pipe,  and  the  horse  was 
nibbling  the  grass  at  the  roadside.  Two  happy  animals, 
without  a  burden  on  their  minds  ! 

After  passing  the  barn,  I  saw  nothing  of  the  dog.  Far 
or  near,  no  living  creature  appeared;  the  servants  must 
have  been  at  dinner,  as  the  coachman  had  foreseen. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


259 


Arriving  at  a  wooden  fence,  I  opened  a  gate  in  it,  and 
found  myself  on  a  bit  of  waste  ground.  On  my  left  there 
was  a  large  duck  pond.  On  my  right,  I  saw  the  fowl- 
house  and  the  pigsties.  Before  me  was  a  high  impene¬ 
trable  hedge;  and  at  some  distance  behind  it — an  orchard 
or  a  garden,  as  I  supposed,  filling  the  intermediate  space 
— rose  the  back  of  the  house.  I  made  for  the  shelter  of 
he  hedge,  in  the  fear  that  someone  might  approach  a 
/inclow  and  see  me.  Once  sheltered  from  observation,  I 
night  consider  what  I  should  do  next.  It  was  impossible 
to  doubt  that  this  was  the  house  in  which  Eunice  was 
living.  Neither  could  I  fail  to  conclude  that  Philip  had 
tried  to  persuade  hertoseehim,  on  those  former  occasions 
when  he  told  me  he  had  taken  a  long  walk. 

As  I  crouched  behind  the  hedge  I  heard  voices  approach¬ 
ing  on  the  other  side  of  it.  At  last  fortune  had  befriended 
me.  The  person  speaking  at  the  moment  was  Miss  J ill- 
gall  ;  and  the  person  who  answered  her  was  Philip. 

“I  am  afraid,  dear  Mr.  Philip,  you  don’t  quite  under¬ 
stand  my  sweet  Euneece.  Honorable,  high-minded, 
delicate  in  her  feelings,  and,  oh,  so  unselfish  !  I  don’t 
want  to  alarm  you,  but  when  she  hears  you  have  been 
deceiving  Helena - ” 

“Upon  my  word,  Miss  Jillgall,  you  are  too  provoking  ! 
I  have  not  been  deceiving  Helena.  Haven’t  I  told  you 
what  discouraging  answers  I  got,  when  I  went  to  see  the 
Governor?  Haven’t  I  shown  you  Eunice’s  reply  to  my 
letter?  You  can’t  have  forgotten  it  already?” 

“Oh,  yes,  I  have.  Why  should  I  remember  it?  Don’t 
I  know  poor  Euneece  was  in  your  mind,  all  the  time?” 

“You’re  wrong  again  !  Eunice  was  7iot  in  my  mind  all 
the  time.  I  was  hurt — I  was  offended  by  the  cruel 
manner  in  which  she  had  treated  me.  And  what  was  the 
consequence?  So  far  was  I  from  deceiving  Helena — she 
rose  in  my  estimation  by  comparison  with  her  sister.” 

“  Oh,  come,  come,  Mr.  Philip  !  that  won’t  do.  Helena 
rising  in  anybody’s  estimation  !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  \” 

“Laugh  as  much  as  you  like,  Miss  Jillgall,  you  won’t 
laugh  away  the  facts.  Helena  loved  me  ;  Helena  was 
true  to  me.  Don’t  be  hard  on  a  poor  fellow  who  is  half 
distracted.  What  a  man  finds  he  can  do  on  one  day,  lie 
finds  he  can’t  do  on  another.  Try  to  understand  that  a 
change  does  sometimes  come  over  one’s  feelings.” 

“  Bless  my  soul,  Mr.  Philip,  that’s  just  what  I  have  been 


26o 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


understanding  all  the  time  !  I  know  your  mind  as  wen 
as  you  know  it  yourself.  You  can’t  forget  my  sweet 
Euneece.” 

“  I  tried  to  forget  her,  Miss  Jillgall.  On  my  word  of 
honor  as  a  gentleman,  I  tried  to  forget  her,  in  justice  to 
Helena.  Is  it  my  fault  that  I  failed?  Eunice  was  in  my 
mind,  as  you  said  just  now.  Oh,  my  friend — for  you  are 
my  friend,  I  am  sure — persuade  her  to  see  me,  if  it’s  only 
for  a  minute  !” 

“Mr.  Philip,  you  are  hard  and  unreasonable.  I  have 
tried  to  persuade  her,  and  I  have  made  my  darling  cry. 
Nothing  you  can  say  will  induce  me  to  distress  her  again. 
Go  back  to  your  Helena.” 

“Too  late.” 

“  Nonsense  !” 

“  I  say  too  late.  If  I  could  have  married  Helena  when 
I  first  went  to  stay  in  the  house,  I  might  have  faced  the 
sacrifice.  As  it  is,  I  can’t  endure  her ;  and  (I  tell  you  this 
in  confidence)  she  has  herself  to  thank  for  what  has 
happened.” 

“Is  that  really  true?” 

“  Quite  true.” 

“Tell  me  what  she  did.” 

“  Oh,  don’t  talk  of  her  !  Persuade  Eunice  to  see  me. 
I  shall  come  back  again,  and  again,  and  again  till  you 
bring  her  to  me.” 

“  Please  don’t  talk  nonsense.  If  she  changes  her  mind, 
I  will  bring  her  with  pleasure.  If  she  still  shrinks  from 
it,  I  regard  Euneece’s  feelings  as  sacred.  Take  my  advice; 
don’t  press  her.  Leave  her  time  to  think  of  you,  and  to 
pity  you — and  that  true  heart  may  be  yours  again,  if  you 
are  worthv  of  it.” 

J 

“Worthy  of  it?  What  do  you  mean?” 

“Are  you  quite  sure,  my  young  friend,  that  you  won’t 
go  back  to  Helena?” 

“Go  back  to  her?  I  would  cut  my  throat  if  I  thought 
myself  capable  of  doing  it  !” 

“How  did  she  set  you  against  her?  Did  the  wretch 
quarrel  with  you  ?” 

“It  might  have  been  better  for  both  of  us  if  she  had 
done  that.  Oh,  her  fulsome  endearments  !  What  a  con¬ 
trast  to  the  charming  modesty  of  Eunice.  If  I  was  rich, 
I  would  make  it  worth  the  while  of  the  first  poor  fellow 
I  could  find  to  rid  me  of  Helena  by  marrying  her.  I  don’t 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


261 


like  saying  such  a  thing  of  a  woman,  but  if  you  will  have 
the  truth - ” 

“Well,  Mr.  Philip — and  what  is  the  truth?” 

“  Helena  disgusts  me.” 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

So  it  was  all  settled  between  them.  Philip  is  to  throw 
me  away,  like  one  of  his  bad  cigars,  for  this  unanswerable 
reason  :  “  Helena  disgusts  me.”  And  he  is  to  persuade 
Eunice  to  take  my  place,  and  be  his  wife.  Yes  !  if  I  let 
him  do  it. 

I  heard  no  more  of  their  talk.  With  that  last,  worst, 
outrage  burning  in  my  memory,  I  left  the  place. 

On  my  way  back  to  the  carriage,  the  dog  met  me.  Truly, 
a  grand  creature.  I  called  him  by  his  name,  and  patted 
him.  He  licked  my  hand.  Something  made  me  speak 
to  him.  I  said  :  “If  I  was  to  tell  you  to  tear  Mr.  Philip 
Dunboyne  to  pieces,  would  you  do  it  ?”  The  great  good- 
natured  brute  held  out  his  paw  to  shake  hands.  Well  ! 
well  !  I  was  not  an  object  of  disgust  to  the  dog. 

But  the  coachman  was  startled,  when  he  saw  me  again. 
He  said  something,  I  did  not  know  what  it  was  ;  and  he 
produced  a  pocket-flask,  containing  some  spirits,  I  sup¬ 
pose.  Perhaps  he  thought  I  was  going  to  faint.  He  little 
knew  me.  I  told  him  to  drive  back  to  the  place  at 
which  I  had  hired  the  cab,  and  earn  his  money.  He 
earned  it. 

On  getting  home,  I  found  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  walking  up 
and  down  the  dining-room,  deep  in  thought.  She  was 
startled  when  we  first  confronted  each  other.  “You  look 
dreadfully  ill,”  she  said. 

I  answered  that  I  had  been  out  for  a  little  exercise,  and 
had  over-fatigued  myself;  and  then  changed  the  subject. 
“Does  my  father  seem  to  improve  under  your  treat¬ 
ment  ?”  I  asked. 

“Very  far  from  it,  my  dear.  I  promised  that  I  would 
try  what  Massage  would  do  for  him,  and  I  find  myself 
compelled  to  give  it  up.” 

“Why?” 

“It  excites  him  dreadfully.” 

“  In  what  way  ?” 

“He  has  been  talking  wildly  of  events  in  his  past  life. 


262 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


His  brain  is  in  some  condition  which  is.  beyond  my  pow¬ 
ers  of  investigation.  Did  you  ever  hear  him  speak  of  his 
wife’s  brother  ?” 

“  No.” 

“Or  of  a  place  called  Low  Lanes?” 

She  waited  for  my  reply  to  this  last  inquiry  with  an  ap¬ 
pearance  of  anxiety  that  surprised  me.  I  had  never 
heard  him  speak  of  Low  Lanes. 

“Have  you  any  particular  interest  in  the  place ?”  I 

asked. 

“None  whatever.” 

She  went  away  to  attend  on  a  patient.  I  retired  to  my 
bedroom,  and  opened  my  diary.  Again  and  again,  I  read 
that  remarkable  story  of  the  intended  poisoning,  and  of 
the  manner  in  which  it  had  ended.  I  sat  thinking  over 
this  romance  in  real  life,  till  I  was  interrupted  by  the  an¬ 
nouncement  of  dinner. 

Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne  had  returned.  In  Miss  Jillgall’s 
absence  we  were  alone  at  the  table.  My  appetite  was 
gone.  I  made  a  pretence  of  eating,  and  another  pretence 
of  being  glad  to  see  my  devoted  lover.  I  talked  to  him 
in  the  prettiest  manner.  As  a  hypocrite,  he  thoroughly 
matched  me:  he  was  gallant,  he  was  amusing.  If  base¬ 
ness  like  ours  had  been  punishable  by  the  law,  a  prison 
was  the  right  place  for  both  of  us. 

Mrs.  Tenbruggen  came  in  again,  after  dinner,  still  not 
quite  easy  about  my  health.  “  How  flushed  you  are  !” 
she  said.  “  Let  me  feel  your  pulse.”  I  laughed,  and  left 
her  with  Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne. 

Passing  my  father’s  door,  I  looked  in,  anxious  to  see  if 
he  was  in  the  excitable  state  which  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  had 
described.  Yes  ;  he  was  still  talking.  The  attendant 
told  me  it  had  gone  on  for  hours  together.  On  my  ap¬ 
proaching  his  chair,  he.  called  out:  “Which  are  you? 
Eunice  or  Helena?”  When  I  had  answered  him,  he  beck¬ 
oned  me  to  come  nearer.  “I’m  getting  stronger  every 
minute,”  he  said.  “  We  will  go  travelling  to-morrow,  and 
see  the  place  where  you  were  born.  Low  Lanes.  What 
•in  ugly  village  !  What  a  stupid  name  !  I  dreamt  of  my 
brother-in-law,  the  rector,  last  night.  Do  you  really  think 
he  is  dead  ?  Or  is  it  a  lie  ?  Suppose  we  go  and  see. 
Don’t  tell  anybody.  I  believe  I  am  getting  young  again. 
Good-bye.” 

Sad  !  sad  !  how  will  it  end  ? 

I  wonder  whether  there  is  such  a  place  as  Low  Lanes, 


THE  LEGACY  OF,  CAEV. 


263 


and  whether  I  was  really  born  there?  If  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Tenbruggen  what  he  has  said  to  me,  why  did  she  not 
mention  that  he  had  spoken  of  Low  Lanes  as  my  birth¬ 
place  ?  Perhaps  she  thought  it  was  needless  to  pay  much 
attention  to  words  spoken  in  a  state  of  delirium.  And  no 
doubt  she  was  right. 

I  went  back  to  my  bedroom,  and  opened  my  diary,  and 
read  the  story  again. 

Was  the  poison  of  which  that  resolute  young  wife  pro¬ 
posed  to  make  use,  something  that  acted  slowly,  and  told 
the  doctors  nothing  if  they  looked  for  it  after  death  ? 

Would  it  be  running  too  great  a  risk  to  show  the  story 
to  the  doctor,  and  try  to  get  a  little  useful  information  in 
that  way  ?  It  would  be  useless.  He  would  make  some 
feeble  joke;  he  would  say,  girls  and  poisons  are  not  fit 
company  for  each  other. 

But  I  might  discover  what  I  want  to  know  in  another 
way.  I  might  call  on  the  doctor  after  he  has  gone  out  on 
his  afternoon  round  of  visits,  and  might  tell  the  servant  I 
would  wait  for  his  master’s  return.  Nobody  would  be  in 
my  way;  I  might  get  at  the  medical  literature  in  the  con¬ 
sulting  room,  and  find  the  information  for  myself. 

A  knock  at  my  door  interrupted  me  in  the  midst  of  my 
plans.  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  again  ! — still  in  a  fidget}?-  state 
of  feeling  on  the  subject  of  my  health.  “  Which  is  it?” 
she  said.  “Pain  of  body,  my  dear,  or  pain  of  mind?  I 
am  anxious  about  you.” 

“  My  dear  Elizabeth,  your  sympathy  is  thrown  away  on 
me.  As  I  have  told  you  already,  I  am  over-tired — noth¬ 
ing  more.” 

She  was  relieved  to  hear  that  I  had  no  mental  troubles 
to  complain  of.  “  Fatigue,”  she  remarked,  “sets  itself 
right  with  rest.  Did  you  take  a  very  long  walk?” 

“Yes.” 

Beyond  the  limits  of  the  town,  of  course  ?  Philip  has 
been  taking  a  walk  in  the  country,  too.  He  doesn’t  say 
that  he  met  you.” 

These  clever  people  sometimes  overreach  themselves. 
H  ow  she  suggested  it  to  me,  I  cannot  pretend  to  have  dis¬ 
covered.  But  I  did  certainly  suspect  that  she  had  led 
Philip,  while  they  were  together  downstairs,  into  saying 
to  her  what  he  had  already  said  to  Miss  Jillgall.  I  was 
so  angry  that  I  tried  to  pump  my  excellent  friend,  as  she 
had  been  trying  to  pump  me — a  vulgar  expression,  but 
vulgar  writing  is  such  a  convenient  way  of  writing  some- 


264 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


times.  My  first  attempt  to  entrap  the  Masseuse  failed 
completely.  She  coolly  changed  the  subject. 

“  Have  I  interrupted  you  in  writing?”  she  asked,  point¬ 
ing  to  my  diary. 

“No;  I  was  idling  over  what  I  have  written  already — 
an  extraordinary  story  which  I  copied  from  a  book.” 

“  May  I  look  at  it?” 

I  pushed  the  open  diary  across  the  table.  If  I  was  the 
object  of  any  suspicions  which  she  wanted  to  confirm,  it 
would  be  curious  to  see  if  the  poisoning  story  helped  her. 
“  It’s  a  piece  of  family  history,”  I  said;  “  I  think  you  will 
agree  with  me  that  it  is  really  interesting.” 

She  began  to  read.  As  she  went  on,  not  all  her  power 
of  controlling  herself  could  prevent  her  from  turning  pale. 
This  change  of  color  (in  such  a  woman)  a  little  alarmed 
me.  When  a  girl  is  devoured  by  deadly  hatred  of  a  man, 
does  the  feeling  show  itself  to  other  persons  in  her  face  ? 
I  must  practise  before  the  glass,  and  train  my  face  into 
a  trustworthy  state  of  discipline. 

“  Coarse  melodrama!”  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  declared. 
“  Mere  sensation.  No  analysis  of  character.  A  made-up 
story!” 

“  Well  made-up,  surely?”  I  answered. 

“  I  don’t  agree  with  you.”  Her  voice  was  not  quite  so 
steady  as  usual.  She  asked  suddenly  if  my  clock  was 
right — and  declared  that  she  should  be  late  for  an  ap¬ 
pointment.  On  taking  leave  she  pressed  my  hand  strongly 
— eyed  me  with  distrustful  attention — and  said  very  em¬ 
phatically:  “  Take  care  of  yourself,  Helena;  pray  take 
care  of  yourself.” 

I  am  afraid  I  did  a  very  foolish  thing  when  I  showed 
her  the  poisoning  story.  Has  it  helped  the  wily  old  crea¬ 
ture  to  look  into  my  inmost  thoughts? 

Impossible! 

To-day,  Miss  Jillgall  returned,  looking  hideously  healthy 
and  spitefully  cheerful.  Although  she  tried  to  conceal  it 
while  I  was  present,  I  could  see  that  Philip  has  recovered 
his  place  in  her  favor.  After  what  he  had  said  to  her  be¬ 
hind  the  hedge  at  the  farm,  she  would  be  relieved  from 
all  fear  of  my  becoming  his  wife,  and  would  joyfully  an¬ 
ticipate  his  marriage  to  Eunice.  There  arev  thoughts  in 
me  which  I  don’t  set  down  in  my  book.  I  only  say:  We 
shall  see. 

This  afternoon  I  decided  on  visiting  the  doctor. 

'  o 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


265 


The  servant  was  quite  sorry  for  me  when  he  answered 
the  door.  His  master  had  just  left  the  house  for  a  round 
of  visits.  I  said  I  would  wait.  The  servant  was  afraid  I 
should  find  waiting  very  tedious.  I  reminded  him  that  I 
could  go  away  if  l  found  it  tedious.  At  last,  the  polite 
old  man  left  me. 

I  went  into  the  consulting-room,  and  read  the  backs  of 
the  medical  books  ranged  round  the  walls,  and  found  a 
volume  that  interested  me.  There  was  such  curious  in¬ 
formation  in  it  that  I  amused  myself  by  making  extracts, 
using  the  first  sheets  of  paper  that  I  could  find.  They 
had  printed  directions  at  the  top,  which  showed  that  the 
doctor  was  accustomed  to  write  his  prescriptions  on  them. 
We  had  many,  too  many,  of  his  prescriptions  in  our  house. 

The  servant’s  doubts  of  my  patience  proved  to  have  been 
well-founded.  I  got  tired  of  waiting,  and  went  home  be¬ 
fore  the  doctor  returned. 

From  morning  to  night,  nothing  has  been  seen  of  Mrs. 
Tenbruggen  to-day.  Nor  has  any  apology  for  her  neglect 
of  us  been  received,  fond  as  she  is  of  writing  little  notes. 
Has  that  story  in  my  diary  driven  her  away  ?  Let  me  see 
what  to-morrow  may  bring  forth. 

To-day  has  brought  forth — nothing.  Mrs.  Tenbruggen 
still  keeps  away  from  us.  Has  the  story  in  my  diary  any¬ 
thing  to  do  with  the  mystery  of  her  absence  ? 

I  am  not  in  good  spirits  to-day.  My  nerves — if  I  have 
such  things,  which  is  more  than  I  know  by  my  own 
experience — have  been  a  little  shaken  by  a  horrid  dream. 
The  medical  information,  which  my  thirst  for  knowledge 
absorbed  in  the  doctor’s  consulting-room,  turned  traitor 
— armed  itself  with  the  grotesque  horrors  of  nightmare — 
and  so  thoroughly  frightened  me  that  I  was  on  the  point 
of  being  foolish  enough  to  destroy  my  notes.  I  thought 
better  of  it,  and  my  notes  are  safe  under  lock  and  key. 

Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne  is  trying  to  pave  the  way  for  his 
flight  from  this  house.  He  speaks  of  friends  in  London, 
whose  interest  will  help  him  to  find  the  employment  which 
is  the  object  of  his  ambition.  “In  a  few  days  more,’’  he 
said,  “  I  shall  ask  for  leave  of  absence.’’ 

Instead  of  looking  at  me,  his  eyes  wandered  to  the  win¬ 
dow;  his  fingers  played  restlessly  with  his  watch  chain 
while  he  spoke.  I  thought  I  would  give  him  a  chance,  a 
last  chance,  of  making  the  atonement  that  he  owes  to  me. 
This  shows  shameful  weakness,  on  my  part.  Does  my 


266 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAhV. 


own  resolution  startle  me  ?  Or  does  the  wretch  appeal — 
to  what?  To  my  pity?  It  cannot  be  my  love;  I  am  posi¬ 
tively  sure  that  I  hate  him.  Well,  I  am  not  the  first  girl 
who  has  been  an  unanswerable  riddle  to  herself. 

“  Is  there  any  other  motive  for  your  departure?”  I 
asked. 

“What  other  motive  can  there  be  ?”  he  replied. 

I  put  what  I  had  to  say  to  him  in  plainer  words  still. 
“  Tell  me,  Philip,  are  you  beginning  to  wish  that  you  were 
a  free  man  again?” 

He  still  prevaricated.  Was  this  because  he  is  afraid 
of  me,  or  because  he  is  not  quite  brute  enough  to  insult 
me  to  my  face?  I  tried  again  for  the  third  and  last  time. 
I  almost  put  the  words  into  his  mouth. 

“I  fancy  you  have  been  out  of  temper  lately,”  I  said. 
“You  have  not  been  your  own  kinder  and  better  self.  Is 
this  the  right  interpretation  of  the  change  that  I  think  I 
see  in  you  ?” 

He  answered:  “I  have  not  been  very  well  lately.” 

“  And  that  is  all  ?” 

“  Yes — that  is  all.” 

There  was  no  more  to  be  said;  I  turned  away  to  leave 
the  room.  He  followed  me  to  the  door.  After  a  mo¬ 
mentary  hesitation,  he  made  the  attempt  to  kiss  me.  I 
only  looked  at  him — he  drew  back  from  me  in  silence.  I 
left  the  new  Judas,  standing  alone,  while  the  shades  of 
evening  began  to  gather  over  the  room. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

EVENTS  IN  THE  FAMILY,  RELATED  BY  MISS  JILLGALL. 

“  If  anything  of  importance  happens,  I  trust  to  you  to 
write  an  account  of  it,  and  to  send  the  writing  to  me.  I 
will  come  to  you  at  once,  if  I  see  reason  to  believe  that 
my  presence  is  required.” 

Those  lines,  in  your  last  kind  reply  to  me,  rouse  my 
courage,  dear  Mr.  Governor,  and  sharpen  the  vigilance 
which  has  always  been  one  of  the  strong  points  in  my 
character.  Every  suspicious  circumstance  which  occurs 
in  this  house  will  be  (so  to  speak)  seized  on  by  my  pen, 
and  will  find  itself  (so  so  speak  again)  placed  on  its  trial, 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN.  267 

before  your  unerring  judgment.  Let  the  wicked  tremble! 
I  mention  no  names. 

Taking  up  my  narrative  where  it  came  to  an  end,  when 
I  last  wrote,  I  have  to  say  a  word  first  on  the  subject  of 
my  discoveries  in  regard  to  Philip’s  movements. 

The  advertisement  of  a  private  inquiry  office,  which  I 
read  in  a  newspaper,  put  the  thing  into  my  head.  I  pro¬ 
vided  myself  with  money  to  pay  the  expenses  by — I  blush 
while  I  write  it — pawning  my  watch.  This  humiliation 
of  my  poor  self  has  been  rewarded  by  success.  Skilled 
investigation  has  proved  that  our  young  man  has  come  to 
his  senses  again,  exactly  as  I  supposed.  On  each  occasion 
when  he  was  suspiciously  absent  from  the  house,  he  has 
been  followed  to  the  farm.  I  have  been  staying  there 
myself  for  a  day  or  two,  in  the  hope  of  persuading  Eunice 
to  relent.  The  hope  has  not  yet  been  realized.  But 
Philip’s  devotion,  assisted  by  my  influence,  will  yet  pre¬ 
vail.  Let  us  not  despair. 

Whether  Helena  knows  positively  that  she  has  lost  her 
wicked  hold  on  Philip,  I  cannot  say.  It  seems  hardly 
possible  that  she  could  have  made  the  discovery  just  yet. 
The  one  thing  of  which  I  am  certain  is,  that  she  looks  like 
a  fiend. 

Philip  has  wisely  taken  my  advice,  and  employed  pious 
fraud.  He  will  get  away  from  the  wretch,  who  has 
tempted  him  once  and  may  tempt  him  again,  under  pre¬ 
tence  of  using  the  interest  of  his  friends  in  London  to  find 
a  place  under  Government.  He  has  not  been  very  well 
for  the  last  day  or  two,  and  the  execution  of  our  project 
is  in  consequence  delayed. 

I  have  news  of  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  which  will,  I  think, 
surprise  you. 

She  has  kept  away  from  us  in  a  most  unaccountable 
manner.  I  called  on  her  at  the  hotel,  and  heard  that  she 
was  engaged  with  her  lawyer.  On  the  next  day,  she 
suddenly  returned  to  her  old  habits,  and  paid  the  custom¬ 
ary  visit.  I  observed  a  singular  alteration  in  her  state  of 
feeling.  She  is  now  coldly  civil  to  Helena;  and  she  asks 
after  Eunice  with  a  maternal  interest  touching  to  see.  I 
said  to  her:  “  Elizabeth,  you  appear  to  have  changed  your 
opinion  of  the  two  girls,  since  I  saw  you.”  She  answered, 
with  a  delightful  candor  which  reminded  me  of  old  times: 
“Completely!”  I  said:  “A  woman  of  your  intellectual 
calibre,  dear,  doesn’t  change  her  mind  without  a  good 
reason  for  it.”  Elizabeth  cordially  agreed  with  me.  I 


268 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


ventured  to  be  a  little  more  explicit:  “You  have  no  doubt 
made  some  interesting  discovery.”  Elizabeth  agreed 
again;  and  I  ventured  again:  “I  suppose  I  may  not  ask 
what  the  discovery  is?”  “  No,  Selina,  you  may  not  ask.” 

This  is  curious;  but  it  is  nothing  to  what  I  have  got  to 
tell  you  next.  Just  as  I  was  longing  to  take  her  to  my 
bosom  again  as  my  friend  and  confidant,  Elizabeth  has 
disappeared.  And,  alas!  alas!  there  is  a  reason  for  it 
which  no  sympathetic  person  can  dispute. 

I  have  just  received  this  overwhelming  news,  in  the 
form  of  a  neat  parcel,  addressed  to  myself. 

There  has  been  a  scandal  at  the  hotel.  That  monster 
in  human  form,  Elizabeth’s  husband,  is  aware  of  his  wife’s 
professional  fame,  has  heard  of  the  large  sums  of  money 
which  she  earns  as  the  greatest  living  professor  of  Mas¬ 
sage,  has  been  long  on  the  look-out  for  her,  and  has  dis¬ 
covered  her  at  last.  He  has  not  only  forced  his  way  into 
her  sitting-room  at  the  hotel;  he  insists  on  her  living 
with  him  again;  her  money  being  the  attraction,  it  is  need¬ 
less  to  say.  If  she  refuses,  he  threatens  her  with  the  law 
— the  barbarous  law  which,  to  use  his  own  coarse  expres¬ 
sion,  will  “restore  his  conjugal  rights.” 

All  this  I  gathered  from  the  narrative  of  my  unhappy 
friend,  which  forms  one  of  the  two  enclosures  in  her  par¬ 
cel.  She  has  already  made  her  escape.  Ha!  the  man 
doesn’t  live  who  can  circumvent  Elizabeth.  The  English 
court  of  law  isn’t  built  which  can  catch  her,  when  she 
roams  the  free  and  glorious  Continent. 

The  vastness  of  this  amazing  woman’s  mind  is  what  I 
must  pause  to  admire.  In  the  frightful  catastrophe  that 
has  befallen  her,  she  can  still  think  of  Philip  and  Euneece. 
She  is  eager  to  hear  of  their  marriage,  and  renounces 
Helena  with  her  whole  heart.  “I  too  was  deceived  by 
that  cunning  young  woman,”  she  writes.  “Beware  of 
her,  Selina.  Unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken,  she  is  go¬ 
ing  to  end  badly.  Take  care  of  Philip,  take  care  of  Eu¬ 
neece.  If  you  want  help,  apply  at  once  to  my  favorite 
hero  in  real  life,  “The  Governor.”  I  don’t  presume  to 
correct  Elizabeth’s  language.  I  should  have  called  you 
The  Idol  of  the  Women. 

The  second  enclosure  contains,  as  I  suppose,  a  wedding 
present.  It  is  carefully  sealed — it  feels  no  bigger  than  an 
ordinary  letter — and  it  contains  an  inscription  which  your 
highly-cultivated  intelligence  may  be  able  to  explain.  I 
copy  it  as  follows: 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


269 


“  To  be  enclosed  in  another  envelope,  addressed  to  Mr. 
Dunboyne  the  elder,  at  Percy’s  Private  Hotel,  London, 
and  delivered  by  a  trustworthy  messenger,  on  the  day 
when  Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne  is  married  to  Miss  Eunice 
Gracedieu.  Placed  meanwhile  under  the  care  of  Miss 
Selina  Jillgall.” 

Why  is  this  mysterious  letter  to  be  sent  to  Philip’s 
father?  I  wonder  whether  that  circumstance  will  puzzle 
you  as  it  has  puzzled  me. 

I  have  kept  my  report  back,  so  as  to  send  you  the  last 
news  r  elating  to  Philip’s  state  of  health.  To  my  great  re¬ 
gret,  his  illness  seems  to  have  made  a  serious  advance  since 
yesterday.  When  I  ask  if  he  is  in  pain,  he  says:  “It  isn’t 
exactly  pain;  I  feel  as  if  I  was  sinking.  Sometimes  I  am 
giddy;  and  sometimes  I  find  myself  feeling  thirsty  and 
sick.”  I  have  no  opportunity  of  looking  after  him  as  I 
could  wish;  for  Helena  insists  on  nursing  him,  assisted 
by  the  housemaid.  Maria  is  a  very  good  girl  in  her  way, 
but  too  stupid  to  be  of  much  use.  If  he  is  not  better  to¬ 
morrow,  I  shall  insist  on  sending  for  the  doctor. 

He  is  no  better;  and  he  wishes  to  have  medical  help. 
Helena  doesn’t  seem  to  understand  his  illness.  It  was 
not  until  Philip  had  insisted  on  seeing  him  that  she  con¬ 
sented  to  send  for  the  doctor. 

You  had  some  talk  with  this  experienced  physician 
when  you  were  here,  and  you  know  what  a  clever  man  he 
is.  When  I  tell  you  that  he  hesitates  to  say  what  is  the 
matter  with  Philip,  you  will  feel  as  much  alarmed  as  I 
do.  I  will  wait  to  send  this  to  the  post  until  I  can  write 
in  a  more  definite  way. 

Two  days  more  have  passed.  The  doctor  has  put  two 
very  strange  questions  to  me. 

He  asked,  first,  if  there  was  anybody  staying  with  us 
besides  the  regular  members  of  the  household.  I  said  we 
had  no  visitor.  He  wanted  to  know  next  if  Mr.  Philip 
Dunboyne  had  made  any  enemies  since  Re  has  been  living 
in  our  town.  I  said  none  that  I  knew  of — and  I  took  the 
liberty  of  asking  what  he  meant.  He  answered  to  this, 
that  he  has  a  few  more  inquiries  to  make,  and  that  he  will 
tell  me  what  he  means  to-morrow. 

For  God’s  sake  come  here  as  soon  as  you  possibly  can. 
The  whole  burden  is  thrown  on  me— and  I  am  quite  un¬ 
equal  to  it. 


7 HE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


270 

I  received  the  doctor  to-day  in  the  drawing-room.  To 
my  amazement  he  asked  leave  to  speak  with  me  in  the 
garden.  When  I  asked  why,  lie  answered:  “I  don’t  want 
to  have  a  listener  at  the  door.  Come  out  on  the  lawn, 
where  we  can  be  sure  that  we  are  alone.” 

When  we  were  in  the  garden,  he  noticed  that  I  was 
trembling. 

“  Rouse  your  courage,  Miss  Jillgall,”  he  said.  “  In  the 
Minister’s  helpless  state  there  is  nobody  whom  I  car 
speak  to  but  yourself.” 

I  ventured  to  remind  him  that  he  might  speak  to  Helena 
as  well  as  to  myself. 

He  looked  as  black  as  thunder  when  I  mentioned  her 
name.  All  he  said  was,  “  No  !”  But,  oh,  if  you  had 
heard  his  voice — and  he  so  gentle  and  sweet-tempered  at 
other  times — you  would  have  felt,  as  I  did,  that  he  had 
Helena  in  his  mind! 

“  Now,  listen  to  this,”  he  went  on.  “  Everything  that 
my  art  can  do  for  Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne  while  I  am  at  his 
bedside,  is  undone  while  I  am  away  by  some  other  per¬ 
son.  He  is  worse  to-day  than  I  have  seen  him  yet.” 

“Oh,  sir,  do  you  think  he  will  die?” 

“  He  will  certainly  die  unless  the  right  means  are  taken 
to  save  him,  and  taken  at  once.  It  is  my  duty  not  to 
flinch  from  telling  you  the  truth.  I  have  made  a  discov¬ 
ery  since  yesterday  which  satisfies  me  that  I  am  right. 
Somebody  is  trying  to  poison  Mr.  Dunboyne;  and  some¬ 
body  will  succeed  unless  he  is  removed  from  this  house.” 

I  am  a  poor  feeble  creature.  The  doctor  caught  me,  or 
I  should  have  dropped  on  the  grass.  It  was  not  a  faint¬ 
ing-fit.  I  only  shook  and  shivered  so  that  I  was  too  weak 
to  stand  up.  Encouraged  by  the  doctor,  I  recovered  suffi¬ 
ciently  to  be  able  to  ask  him  where  Philip  was  to  be  taken 
to.  He  said:  “To  the  hospital.  No  poisoner  can  follow 
my  patient  there.  Persuade  him  to  let  me  take  him 
away,  when  I  call  again  in  an  hour’s  time.” 

As  soon  as  I  could  hold  a  pen,  I  sent  a  telegram 
to  you.  Pray,  pray  come  by  the  earliest  train.  I  also 
telegraphed  to  old  Mr.  Dunboyne,  at  the  hotel  in  London. 

It  was  impossible  for  me  to  face  Helena;  J  own  I  was 
afraid.  The  cook  kindly  went  upstairs  to  see" who  was  in 
Philip1  s  room.  It  was  the  housemaid’s  turn  to  look  after 
him  for  a  while.  I  went  instantly  to  his  bedside. 

There  was  no  persuading  him  to  allow  himself  to  be 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


271 


taken  to  the  hospital.  “  I  am  dying,”  he  said.  “  If  you 
have  any  pity  for  me,  send  for  Euneece.  Let  me  see  her 
once  more,  let  me  hear  her  say  that  she  forgives  me,  be¬ 
fore  I  die.” 

I  hesitated.  It  was  too  terrible  to  think  of  Euneece  in 
the  same  house  with  her  sister.  Her  life  might  be  in 
danger  !  Philip  gave  me  a  look,  a  dreadful  ghastly  look. 
“If  you  refuse,”  he  said  wildly,  “  the  grave  won't  hold 
me.  I’ll  haunt  you  for  the  rest  of  your  life.” 

“  She  shall  hear  that  you  are  ill,”  I  answered — and  ran 
out  of  the  room  before  he  could  speak  again. 

What  I  had  promised  to  write,  I  did  write.  But,  placed 
between  Euneece’s  danger  and  Philip’s  danger,  my  heart 
was  all  for  Euneece.  Would  Helena  spare  her  if  she  came 
to  Philip’s  bedside  ?  In  such  terror  as  I  never  felt  before 
in  my  life,  I  added  a  word  more,  entreating  her  not  to 
leave  the  farm;  and  I  mentioned  that  I  expected  the  Gov¬ 
ernor  to  return  to  us  immediately.  “Do  nothing,”  I 
wrote,  “  without  his  advice.”  My  letter  having  been  com¬ 
pleted,  I  sent  the  cook  away  with  it  in  a  chaise.  She  be¬ 
longed  to  the  neighborhood,  and  she  knew  the  farm-house 
well. 

Nearly  two  hours  afterwards  I  heard  the  chaise  stop  at 
the  door,  and  ran  out,  impatient  to  hear  how  my  sweet 
girl  had  received  my  letter.  God  help  us  all  !  When  I 
opened  the  door,  the  first  person  whom  I  saw  was  Euneece 
herself. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

One  surprise  followed  another,  after  I  had  encountered 
Euneece  at  the  door. 

When  my  fondness  had  excused  her  for  setting  the  well- 
meant  advice  in  my  letter  at  defiance,  I  was  conscious  of 
expecting  to  see  her  in  tears  ;  eager,  distressingly  eager, 
to  hear  what  hope  there  might  be  of  Philip’s  recovery.  I 
saw  no  tears,  I  heard  no  inquiries.  She  was  pale,  and  quiet, 
and  silent.  Not  a  word  fell  from  her  when  we  met,  not  a 
word  wdien  she  kissed  me,  not  a  word  when  she  led  the 
way  into  the  nearest  room — the  dining-room.  It  was  only 
when  we  were  shut  in  together  that  she  spoke. 

“Which  is  Philip’s  room  ?”  she  asked. 


272 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


Instead  of  wanting  to  know  how  he  was,  she  desired  to 
know  where  he  was  !  I  pointed  towards  the  back  dining¬ 
room,  which  had  been  made  into  a  bedroom  for  Philip. 
He  had  chosen  it  himself,  because  the  window  opened 
into  the  garden,  and  he  could  slip  out  and  smoke  at  any 
hour  of  the  day  or  night,  when  he  pleased. 

“Who  is  with  him  now  ?”  was  the  next  strange  thing 
this  sadly-changed  girl  said  to  me. 

“Maria  is  taking  her  turn,”  I  answered  ;  “she  assists  in 
nursing  Philip.” 

“Where  is - ?”  Euneece  got  no  farther  than  that. 

Her  breath  quickened,  her  color  faded  away.  I  had 
seen  people  look  as  she  was  looking  now,  when  they  suf¬ 
fered  under  some  sudden  pain.  Before  I  could  offer  to 
help  her,  she  rallied,  and  went  on:  “Where,”  she  began 
again,  “is  the  other  nurse?” 

“You  mean  Helena?”  I  said 

“I  mean  the  Poisoner.” 

When  I  remind  you,  dear  Mr.  Governor,  that  my  letter 
had  carefully  concealed  from  her  the  horrible  discovery 
made  by  the  doctor,  your  imagination  will  picture  my 
state  of  mind.  She  saw  that  I  was  overpowered.  Her 
sweet  nature,  so  strangely  frozen  up  thus  far,  melted  at 
least.  “  You  don’t  know  what  I  have  heard,”  she  said, 
“  you  don’t  know  what  thoughts  have  been  roused  in  me.” 
She  left  her  chair  and  sat  on  my  knee  with  the  familiarity 
of  the  dear  old  times,  and  took  the  letter  that  I  had  writ¬ 
ten  to  her  from  her  pocket. 

“  Look  at  it  yourself,”  she  said,  “  and  tell  me  if  anybody 
could  read  it  and  not  see  that  you  were  concealing  some¬ 
thing.  My  dear,  I  have  driven  round  by  the  doctor’s 
house — I  have  seen  him — I  have  persuaded  him,  or  per¬ 
haps  I  ought  to  say  surprised  him,  into  telling  me  the 
truth.  But  the  kind  old  man  is  obstinate.  He  wouldn’t 
believe  me  when  I  told  him  I  was  on  my  way  here  to  save 
Philip’s  life.  He  said  :  i  My  child,  you  will  only  put  your 
own  life  in  jeopardy.  If  I  had  not  seen  that  danger,  I 
should  never  have  told  you  of  the  dreadful  state  of  tilings 
at  home.  Go  back  to  the  good  people  at  the  farm,  and 
leave  the  saving  of  Philip  to  me.’  ” 

“He  was  right,  Euneece,  entirely  right.” 

“  No,  dear,  he  was  wrong.  I  begged  him  to  come  here, 
and  judge  for  himself ;  and  I  ask  you  to  do  the  same.” 

I  was  obstinate.  “Go  back  !”  I  persisted.  “  Go  back 
to  the  farm  !” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


273 


“Can  I  see  Philip?”  she  asked. 

I  have  heard  some  insolent  men  say  that  women 
are  like  cats.  If  they  mean  that  we  do,  figuratively  speak¬ 
ing,  scratch  at  times,  l  am  afraid  they  are  not  altogether 
wrong.  An  irressitible  impulse  made  me  say  to  poor 
Euneece  :  “This  is  a  change  indeed,  since  you  refused  to 
receive  Philip  !” 

“  Is  there  no  change  in  the  circumstances  ?”  she  asked 
sadly.  “Isn’t  he  ill  and  in  danger?” 

I  begged  her  to  forgive  me  ;  I  said  I  meant  no  harm. 

“  I  gave  him  up  to  my  sister,”  she  continued,  “  when  I 
believed  that  his  happiness  depended  not  on  me,  but  on 
her.  I  take  him  back  to  myself,  when  he  is  at  the  mercy 
of  a  demon  who  threatens  his  life.  Come,  Selina,  let  us 
go  to  Philip.” 

She  put  her  arm  round  me,  and  made  me  get  up  from 
my  chair.  I  was  so  easily  persuaded  by  her,  that  the  fear 
of  what  Helena’s  jealousy  and  Helen’s  anger  mi^ht  do 
was  scarcely  present  in  my  thoughts.  The  door  of  com¬ 
munication  was  locked  on  the  side  of  the  bedcham¬ 
ber.  I  went  into  the  hall,  to  enter  Philip’s  room  by  the 
other  door.  She  followed,  waiting  behind  me.  I  heard 
what  passed  between  them  when  Maria  went  out  to 
her. 

“  Where  is  Miss  Gracedieu  ?” 

“  Resting  upstairs,  Miss,  in  her  room.” 

“Look  at  the  clock,  and  tell  me  when  you  expect  her 
to  come  down  here.” 

“  I  am  to  call  her,  Miss,  in  ten  minutes  more.” 

“Wait  in  the  dining-room,  Maria,  till  I  come  back  to 
you.” 

She  joined  me.  I  held  the  door  open  for  her  to  go  into 
Philip’s  room.  It  was  not  out  of  curiosity;  the  feeling 
that  urged  me  was  sympathy,  when  I  waited  a  moment  to 
see  their  first  meeting.  She  bent  over  the  poor,  pallid, 
trembling,  suffering  man,  and  raised  him  in  her  arms,  and 
laid  his  head  on  her  bosom.  “My  Philip!”  She  mur¬ 
mured  those  words  in  a  kiss.  I  closed  the  door;  I  had  a 
good  cry;  and,  oh,  how  it  comforted  me  ! 

There  was  only  a  minute  to  spare  when  she  came  out  of 
the  room.  Maria  was  waiting  for  her.  Euneece  said,  as 
quietly  as  ever:  “  Go,  and  call  Miss  Gracedieu.” 

The  girl  looked  at  her,  and  saw — I  don’t  know  what. 
Maria  became  alarmed.  But  she  went  up  the  stairs,  and 


274 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


returned  in  haste  to  tell  us  that  her  young  mistress  was 
coining  down. 

The  faint  rustling  of  Helena’s  dress  as  she  left  her  room 
reached  us  in  the  silence.  I  remained  at  the  open  door 
of  the  dining-room,  and  Maria  approached  and  stood  near 
me.  We  were  both  frightened.  Euneece  stepped  for¬ 
ward,  and  stood  on  the  mat  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  wait¬ 
ing.  Her  back  was  toward  me;  I  could  only  see  that  she 
was  as  still  as  a  statue.  The  rustling  of  the  dress  came 
nearer.  Oh,  Heavens  !  what  was  going  to  happen  ?  My 
teeth  chattered  in  my  head;  I  held  by  Maria’s  shoulder. 
Drops  of  perspiration  showed  themselves  on  the  girl’s 
forehead;  she  stared  in  vacant  terror  at  the  slim  little 
figure,  posted  firm  and  still  on  the  mat. 

Helena  turned  the  corner  of  the  stairs,  and  waited  a 
moment  on  the  last  landing,  and  saw  her  sister. 

“  You  here  ?”  she  said.  “  What  do  you  want  ?” 

Thejip  was  not  reply.  Helena  descended,  until  she 
reached  the  last  stair  but  one.  There  she  stopped.  Her 
staring  eyes  grew  large  and  wild;  her  hand  shook  as  she 
stretched  it  out,  feeling  for  the  banister;  she  staggered 
as  she  caught  at  it,  and  held  herself  up.  The  silence  was 
still  unbroken.  Something  in  me,  stronger  than  myself, 
drew  my  steps  along  the  hall,  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
stairs,  till  I  could  see  the  face  which  had  struck  that 
murderous  wretch  with  terror. 

I  looked. 

No  !  it  was  not  my  sweet  girl;  it  was*'  a  horrid  trans¬ 
formation  of  her.  I  saw  a  fearful  creature,  with  glitter¬ 
ing  eyes  that  threatened  some  unimaginable  vengeance. 
Her  lips  were  drawn  back;  they  showed  her  clenched 
teeth.  A  burning  red  flush  dyed  her  face.  The  hair  of 
her  head  rose,  little  by  little,  slowly.  And,  most  dreadful 
sight  of  all,  she  seemed,  in  the  stillness  of  the  house,  to  be 
listening  to  something.  If  I  could  have  moved,  I  should 
have  fled  to  the  first  place  of  refuge  I  could  find.  If  I 
could  have  raised  my  voice,  I  should  have  cried  for  help. 
I  could  do  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  I  could  only 
look,  look,  look;  held  by  the  horror  of  it  with  a  hand  of 
iron. 


Helena  must  have  roused  her  courage,  and  resisted  her 
terror.  I  heard  her  speak: 

“  Let  me  by  !” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN.  275 

Slowly,  steadily,  in  a  whisper,  Euneece  made  that 
reply. 

Helena  tried  once  more — still  fighting  against  her  own 
terror;  I  knew  it  by  the  trembling  of  her  voice: 

“Let  me  by,”  she  repeated;  “I  am  on  my  way  to 
Philip’s  room.” 

“You  will  never  enter  Philip’s  room  again.” 

“  Who  will  stop  me  ?” 

“  T  will.” 

She  had  spoken  in  the  same  steady  whisper  through-  • 
out — but  now  she  moved.  I  saw  her  set  her  foot  on  the 
first  stair.  I  saw  the  horrid  glitter  in  her  eyes  flash  close 
into  Helena’s  face.  I  heard  her  say: 

“  Poisoner,  go  back  to  your  room.” 

Silent  and  shuddering,  Helena  shrank  away  from  her — 
daunted  by  her  glittering  eyes;  mastered  by  her  lifted 
hand  pointing  up  the  stairs. 

Helena  slowdy  ascended  till  she  reached  the  landing. 
She  turned  and  looked  down;  she  tried  to  speak.  The 
pointing  hand  struck  her  dumb,  and  drove  her  up  the  next 
flight  of  stairs.  She  was  lost  to  view.  Only  the  small 
rustling  sound  of  the  dress  was  to  be  heard,  growing 
fainter  and  fainter;  then  an  interval  of  stillness;  then  the 
noise  of  a  door  opened  and  closed  again;  then  no  sound 
more — but  a  change  to  be  seen:  the  transformed  creature, 
a  fearful  creature  no  longer,  was  crouching  on  her  knees, 
still  and  silent,  her  face  covered  by  her  hands.  I  was 
afraid  to  approach  her;  I  was  afraid  to  speak  to  her. 
After  a  time  she  rose.  Suddenly,  swiftly,  with  her  head 
turned  away  from  me,  she  opened  the  door  of  Philip’s 
room — and  was  gone. 

I  looked  round.  There  was  only  Maria  in  the  lonely 
hall.  Shall  I  try  to  tell  you  what  my  sensations  were  ? 
It  may  sound  strangely,  but  it  is  true — I  felt  like  a  sleeper, 
who  was  half  awakened  from  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  LX. 

A  little  later,  on  that  eventful  day,  when  I  was  most 
in  need  of  all  that  your  wisdom  and  kindness  could  do  to 
guide  me,  came  the  telegram  which  announced  that  you 
were  helpless  under  an  attack  of  gout.  As  soon  as  I  had 
in  some  degree  got  over  my  disappointment,  I  remem- 


27  6 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


be  red  having  told  Eiineece  in  my  letter  that  I  expected 
her  kind  old  friend  to  come  to  us.  With  the  telegram  in 
my  hand,  I  knocked  softly  at  Philip’s  door. 

The  voice  that  bade  me  come  in  was  the  gentle  voice 
that  I  knew  so  well.  Philip  was  sleeping.  There,  by  his 
bedside,  with  his  hand  resting  in  her  hand,  was  Euneece, 
so  completely  restored  to  her  own  sweet  self  that  I  could 
hardly  believe  in  what  I  had  seen,  not  an  hour  since.  She 
talked  of  you,  when  I  showed  her  your  message,  with  af¬ 
fectionate  interest  and  regret.  Look  back,  my  admirable 
friend,  at  what  I  have  written  on  the  two  or  three  pages 
which  precede  this,  and  explain  the  astounding  contrast 
if  you  can. 

I  was  left  alone  to  watch  by  Philip,  while  Euneece  went 
away  to  see  her  father.  Soon  afterwards,  Maria  took  my 
place;  I  had  been  sent  for  to  the  next  room  to  receive  the 
doctor. 

He  looked  care-worn  and  grieved.  1  said  I  was  afraid 
he  had  brought  bad  news  with  him. 

“The  worst  possible  news,”  he  answered.  “A  terrible 
exposure  threatens  this  family,  and  I  am  powerless  to 
prevent  it.” 

He  then  asked  me  to  remember  the  day  when  I  had 
been  surprised  by  the  singular  questions  which  he  had 
put  to  me,  and  when  he  had  engaged  to  explain  himself 
after  he  had  made  some  inquiries.  Why,  and  how,  he 
had  set  those  inquiries  on  foot,  was  what  he  had  now  to 
tell.  I  will  repeat  what  he  said,  in  his  own  words,  as 
nearly  as  I  can  remember  them.  While  he  was  in  attend¬ 
ance  on  Philip,  he  had  observed  symptoms  which  made 
him  suspect  that  digitalis  had  been  given  to  the  young 
man,  in  doses  often  repeated.  Cases  of  attempted  poi¬ 
soning  by  this  medicine  were  so  rare  that  he  felt  bound  to 
put  his  suspicions  to  the  test  by  going  round  among  the 
chemists’  shops — excepting  of  course  the  shop  at  which 
his  own  prescriptions  were  made  up — and  asking  if  they 
had  lately  dispensed  any  preparation  of  digitalis,  ordered 
perhaps  in  a  larger  quantity  than  usual.  At  the  second 
shop  he  visited  the  chemist  laughed.  “  Why,  doctor,”  lie 
said,  “  have  you  forgotten  your  own  prescription  ?”  Af¬ 
ter  this,  the  prescription  was  asked  for,  and  produced. 
It  was  on  the  paper  used  by  the  doctor — paper  which  had 
his  address  printed  at  the  top,  and  a  notice  added,  telling 
patients  who  came  to  consult  him  for  the  second  time  to 
bring  their  prescriptions  with  [them.  Then  followed  in 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAEY. 


277 


writing:  “Tincture  of  digitalis,  one  ounce” — with  his 
signature  at  the  end,  not  badly  imitated,  but  a  forgery 
nevertheless.  The  chemist  noticed  the  effect  which  this 
discovery  had  produced  on  the  doctor,  and  asked  if  that 
was  his  signature.  He  could  hardly,  as  an  honest  man, 
have  asserted  that  a  forgery  was  a  signature  of  his  own 
writing.  So  he  made  the  true  reply,  and  asked  who  had 
presented  the  prescription.  The  chemist  called  to  his 
assistant  to  come  forward.  “Did  you  tell  me  that  you 
knew,  by  sight,  the  young  lady  who  brought  this  pre¬ 
scription  ?”  The  assistant  admitted  it.  “  Did  you  tell  me 
she  was  Miss  Helena  Gracedieu  ?”  “I  did.”  “Are  you 
sure  of  not  having  made  any  mistake  ?”  “  Quite  sure.” 

The  chemist  then  said:  “  I  myself  supplied  the  tincture 
of  digitalis,  and  the  young  lady  paid  for  it,  and  took 
it  away  with  her.  You  have  had  all  the  information  that 
I  can  give  you,  sir  ;  and  I  may  now  ask,  if  you  can  throw 
any  light  on  this.”  Our  good  friend  thought  of  the  poor 
Minister,  so  sorely  afflicted,  and  of  the  famous  name  so 
sincerely  respected  in  the  town  and  in  the  country  round, 
and  said  he  could  not  undertake  to  give  an  immediate 
answer.  The  chemist  was  excessively  angry.  “You 
know  as  well  as  I  do,”  he  said,  “that  digitalis,  given  in 
certain  doses,  is  a  poison,  and  you  cannot  deny  that  I 
honestly  believed  myself  to  be  dispensing  your  prescrip¬ 
tion.  While  you  are  hesitating  to  give  me  an  answer,  my 
character  may  suffer  ;  I  may  be  suspected  myself.”  He 
ended  in  declaring  he  should  consult  his  lawyer.  The 
doctor  went  home,  and  questioned  his  servant.  The  man 
remembered  the  day  of  Miss  Helena’s  visit  in  the  af¬ 
ternoon,  and  the  intention  that  she  expressed  of  waiting 
for  his  master’s  return.  He  had  shown  her  into  the  par¬ 
lor,  which  opened  into  the  consulting-room.  No  other 
visitor  was  in  the  house  at  the  time  or  had  arrived 
during  the  rest  of  the  day.  The  doctor’s  own  experi¬ 
ence,  when  he  got  home,  led  him  to  conclude  that 
Helena  had  gone  into  the  consulting-room.  He  had  en¬ 
tered  that  room,  for  the  purpose  of  writing  some  pre¬ 
scriptions,  and  had  found  the  leaves  of  paper  that  he  used 
diminished  in  number.  After  what  he  had  heard,  and 
what  he  had  discovered  (to  say  nothing  of  what  he  sus¬ 
pected),  it  occurred  to  him  to  look  along  the  shelves  of 
his  medical  library.  He  found  a  volume,  treating  of  Poi¬ 
sons,  with  a  slip  of  paper  left  between  the  leaves  ;  the 
poison  described  at  the  place  so  marked  being  digitalis, 


278 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


and  the  paper  used  being  one  of  his  own  prescription- 
papers.  “  If,  as  I  fear,  a  legal  investigation  into  Helena’s 
conduct  is  a  possible  event,”  the  doctor  concluded,  “  there 
is  the  evidence  that  I  shall  be  obliged  to  give,  when  I  am 
called  as  a  witness.” 

It  is  my  belief  that  I  could  have  felt  no  greater  dismay, 
if  the  long  arm  of  the  Law  had  laid  its  hold  on  me  while 
he  was  speaking.  I  asked  what  was  to  be  done. 

“If  she  leaves  the  house  at  once,”  the  doctor  replied, 
“she  may  escape  the  infamy  of  being  charged  with  an 
attempt  at  murder  by  poison  ;  and,  in  her  absence,  I  can 
answer  for  Philip’s  life.  I  don’t  urge  you  to  warn  her, 
because  that  might  be  a  dangerous  thing  to  do.  It  is  for 
you  to  decide,  as  a  member  of  the  family,  whether  you 
will  run  the  risk.” 

I  tried  to  speak  to  him  of  Euneece,  and  to  tell  him  what 
I  have  alreadyrelated  to  yourself.  He  was  in  no  humor 
to  listen  to  me.  “Keep  it  for  a  fitter  time,”  he  answered; 
“and  think  of  what  I  have  just  said  to  you.”  With  that, 
he  left  me,  on  his  way  to  Philip’s  room. 

Mental  exertion  was  completely  beyond  me.  Can  you 
understand  a  poor  middle-aged  spinster  being  frightened 
iuto  doing  a  dangerous  thing  ?  That  may  seem  to  be 
nonsense.  But  if  you  ask  why  I  took  a  morsel  of  paper, 
and  wrote  the  warning  which  I  was  afraid  to  communi¬ 
cate  by  word  of  mouth — why  I  went  upstairs  with  my 
knees  knocking  together,  and  opened  the  door  of  Helena’s 
room  just  wide  enough  to  let  my  hand  pass  through — why 
I  threw  the  paper  in,  and  banged  the  door  to  again,  and 
ran  downstairs  as  I  have  never  run  since  I  was  a  little 
girl — I  can  only  say,  in  the  way  of  explanation,  what  I 
have  said  already  :  I  was  frightened  into  doing  it. 

What  I  have  written,  thus  far,  I  shall  send  to  you  by  to¬ 
night’s  post. 

The  doctor  came  to  me,  after  he  had  seen  Philip  and 
spoken  with  Euneece.  He  was  in  a  hurry,  as  usual.  “  One 
of  two  things,”  he  said.  “Either  that  girl  is  crazy,  or 
she  is  one  in  a  thousand.  I  shall  put  off  insisting  on 
Philip’s  removal  till  to-morrow.  A  day’s  delay  will 
tell  me  if  Miss  Euneece’s  sense  and  courage  are  to  be 
trusted.” 

Having  no  doubt  of  her  sense  and  courage  myself,  I  was 
not  surprised  when  those  good  qualities  showed  them¬ 
selves  on  the  doctor’s  departure. 

While  I  remained  at  home  on  the  watch,  keeping  the 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


279 

doors  of  both  rooms  locked,  Euneece  went  out  to  get 
Philip’s  medicine.  She  came  back,  followed  by  a  boy 
carrying  a  portable  apparatus  for  cooking.  “  All  that 
Philip  wants  and  all  that  we  want,”  she  explained,  “  we 
can  provide  for  ourselves.  Give  me  a  morsel  of  paper  to 
\yrite  on.” 

Unhooking  the  little  pencil  attached  to  her  watch  chain, 
she  paused  and  looked  towards  the  door.  “Somebody 
listening,”  she  whispered.  “Let  them  listen.”  She  wrote 
a  list  of  necessaries,  in  the  way  of  things  to  eat  and 
things  to  drink,  and  asked  me  to  go  out  and  get  them  my¬ 
self.  “I  don’t  doubt  the  servants,”  she  said,  speaking 
distinctly  enough  to  be  heard  outside  ;  “  but  I  am  afraid 
of  what  a  Poisoner’s  cunning  and  a  Poisoner’s  desperation 
may  do,  in  a  kitchen  which  is  open  to  her.”  I  went  away 
on  my  errand — discovering  no  listener  outside,  I  need 
hardly  say.  On  my  return,  I  found  the  door  of  com¬ 
munication  with  Philip’s  room  closed,  but  no  longer 
locked.  “We  can  now  attend  on  him  in  turn,”  she  said, 
“  without  opening  either  of  the  doors  which  lead  into  the 
hall.  At  night  we  can  relieve  each  other,  and  each,  of  us 
can  get  sleep  as  we  want  it  in  the  large  arm-chair  in  the 
dining-room.  Philip  must  be  safe  under  our  charge,  or 
the  doctor  will  insist  on  taking  him  to  the  hospital.  When 
we  want  Maria’s  hel^),  from  time  to  time,  we  can  employ 
her  under  our  own  superintendence.  Have  you  anything 
else,  Selina,  to  suggest  ?” 

There  was  nothing  left  to  suggest.  Young  and  inex¬ 
perienced  as  she  was,  how  (I  asked)  had  she  contrived  to 
think  of  all  this  ?  She  answered  simply  :  “  I  am  sure  I 
don’t  know  ;  my  thoughts  came  to  me  while  I  was  looking 
at  Philip.” 

Soon  afterwards  I  found  an  opportunity  of  inquiring  if 
Helena  had  left  the  house.  She  had  just  rung  her  bell ;  and 
Maria  had  found  her  quietly  reading  in  her  room.  Hours 
afterwards,  when  I  was  on  the  watch  at  jiight,  I  heard 
Philip’s  door  softly  tried  from  the  outside.  Her  dreadful 
purpose  had  not  been  given  up,  even  yet. 

It  had  been  a  disappointment  to  me  to  receive  no  an¬ 
swer  to  the  telegram  which  I  had  sent  to  Mr.  Dunboyne 
the  elder.  The  next  day’s  post  brought  the  explanation 
in  a  letter  to  Philip  from  his  father,  directed  to  him  at 
the  hotel  here.  This  showed  that  my  telegram,  giving  my 
address  at  this  house,  had  not  been  received.  Mr.  Dun¬ 
boyne  announced  that  he  had  returned  to  Ireland,  finding 


280 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


the  air  of  London  unendurable,  after  the  sea-breezes  at 
home.  If  Philip  had  already  married,  his  father  would 
leave  him  to  a  life  of  genteel  poverty  with  Helena  Grace- 
dieu.  If  he  had  thought  better  of  it,  his  welcome  was 
waiting  for  him. 

Little  did  Mr.  Dunboyne  know  what  changes  had  taken 
place  since  he  and  his  son  had  last  met,  and  what  hope 
might  yet  present  itself  of  brighter  days  for  poor  Euneece  ! 
I  thought  of  writing  to  him.  But  how  would  that  crabbed 
old  man  receive  a  confidential  letter  from  a  lady  who 
was  a  stranger  ? 

My  doubts  were  set  at  rest  by  Philip  himself.  He 
asked  me  to  write  a  few  lines  of  reply  to  his  father;  de¬ 
claring  that  his  marriage  with  Helena  was  broken  off — 
that  he  had  not  given  up  all  hope  of  being  permitted  to 
offer  the  sincere  expression  of  his  penitence  to  Euneece — 
and  that  he  would  gladly  claim  his  welcome  as  soon  as  he 
was  well  enough  to  undertake  the  journey  to  Ireland. 
When  he  had  signed  the  letter,  I  was  so  pleased  that  I 
made  a  smart  remark.  I  said,  “  This  is  a  treaty  of  peace 
between  father  and  son.” 

When  the  doctor  came  on  the  same  day,  and  found  an  im¬ 
provement  in  Philip’s  health,  he  was  satisfied.  On  the 
day  after,  there  was  more  improvement.  He  spoke  kind¬ 
ly,  and  even  gratefully,  to  Euneece.  No  more  allusions 
to  the  hospital  as  a  place  of  safety  escaped  him.  He 
asked  me  cautiously  for  news  of  Helena.  I  could  only 
tell  him  that  she  had  gone  out  at  her  customary  time, 
and  had  returned  at  her  customary  time.  He  did  not 
attempt  to  conceal  that  my  reply  had  made  him  uneasy. 

“  Are  you  still  afraid  that  she  may  succeed  in  poison¬ 
ing  Philip  ?”  I  asked. 

“  I  am  afraid  of  her  cunning,”  he  answered.  “  If  she 
is  charged  with  attempting  to  poison  young  Dunboyne, 
she  has  some  system. of  defence,  you  may  rely  on  it,  for 
which  we  are  not  prepared.  There,  in  my  opinion,  is  the 
true  reason  for  her  extraordinary  insensibility  to  her  own 
danger.” 

Two  more  days  passed,  and  we  were  still  safe  under 
the  protection  of  lock  and  key. 

On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  (which  was  a  Monday  ) 
Maria  came  to  me,  in  great  tribulation.  On  asking  what 
was  the  matter,  I  received  a  disquieting  reply:  “  Miss 
Helena  is  tempting  me.  She  is  so  miserable  at  being 
prevented  from  seeing  Mr.  Philip,  and  helping  to  nurse 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CA/Ar. 


281 


him,  that  it  is  quite  distressing  to  see  her.  At  the  same 
time,  Miss,  it’s  hard  on  a  poor  servant.  She  asks  me  to 
take  the  key  secretly  out  of  the  door,  and  lend  it  to  her 
at  night  for  a  few  minutes  only.  I’m  really  afraid  I  shall 
be  led  into  doing  it,  if  she  goes  on  persuading  me  much 
longer.” 

I  commended  Maria  for  feeling  scruples  which  proved  her 
to  be  the  best  of  good  girls,  and  promised  to  relieve  her 
from  all  fear  of  future  temptation.  This  was  easily  done. 
Euneece  kept  the  key  of  Philip’s  door  in  her  pocket;  and 
I  kept  the  key  of  the  dining-room  door  in  mine. 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

On  the  next  day,  a  Tuesday  in  the  week,  an  event  took 
place  which  Euneece  and  I  viewed  with  distrust.  Early 
in  the  afternoon,  a  young  man  called  with  a  note  for 
Helena.  It  was  to  be  given  to  her  immediately,  and  no 
answer  was  required. 

Maria  had  just  closed  the  house  door,  and  was  on  her 
way  upstairs  with  the  letter,  when  she  was  called  back  by 
another  ring  at  the  bell.  Our  visitor  was  the  doctor, 
coming  to  see  Philip  at  the  usual  hour.  He  spoke  to 
Maria  in  the  hall: 

“  I  think  I  see  a  note  in  your  hand.  Was  it  given 
to  you  by  the  young  man  who  has  just  left  the  house  ?” 

“  Yes,  sir.” 

“  If  he’s  your  sweetheart,  my  dear,  I  have  nothing  morts 
to  say.” 

“  Good  gracious,  doctor,  how  you  do  talk  !  I  never 
saw  the  young  man  before  in  my  life.” 

“  In  that  case,  Maria,  I  will  ask  you  to  let  me  look  at 
the  address.  Aha  !  Mischief  !” 

The  moment  I  heard  that,  I  threw  open  the  dining¬ 
room  door.'  Curiosity  is  not  easily  satisfied.  When  it 
hears,  it  wants  to  see;  when  it  sees,  it  wants  to  know. 
Every  lady  will  agree  with  me  in  this  observation. 

“  Pray  come  in,”  I  said. 

“  One  minute,  Miss  Jillgall.  My  girl,  when  you  give 
Miss  Helena  that  note,  try  to  get  a  sly  look  at  her  when 
she  opens  it,  and  come  grid  tell  me  what  you  have  seen.” 
He  joined  me  in  the  dining-room,  and  closed  the  door. 
“  The  other  day,”  he  went  on,  “  when  I  told  you  what  I 


282 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN '. 


bad  discovered  in  the  chemist’s  shop,  I  think  I  mentioned 
a  young  man  who  was  called  to  speak  to  a  question  of 
identity — an  assistant  who  knew  Miss  Helena  Gracedieu 
by  sight.” 

“  Yes,  yes  ! 

“  That  young  man  left  the  note  which  Maria  has  just 
taken  upstairs.” 

“  Who  wrote  it,  doctor,  and  what  does  it  say  ?” 

“  Questions  naturally  asked,  Miss  Jillgall — and  not 
easily  answered.  Where  is  Euneece  ?  Her  quick  wit 
might  help  us.” 

She  had  gone  out  to  buy  some  fruit  and  flowers  for 
Philip. 

The  doctor  accepted  his  disappointment  resignedly. 
“  Let  us  try  what  we  can  do  without  her,”  he  said. 
“  That  young  man’s  master  has  been  in  consultation  (you 
may  remember  why)  with  his  lawyer,  and  Helena  may  be 
threatened  by  an  investigation  before  the  magistrates. 
If  this  wild  guess  of  mine  turns  Out  to  have  hit  the  mark, 
the  poisoner  upstairs  has  got  a  warning.” 

I  asked  if  the  chemist  had  written  the  note.  Foolish 
enough  of  me  when  I  came  to  think  of  it.  The  chemist 
would  scarely  act  a  friendly  part  towards  Helena,  when 
she  was  answerable  for  the  awkward  position  in  which 
he  had  placed  himself.  Perhaps  the  young  man  who  had 
left  the  warning  was  also  the  writer  of  the  warning.  The 
doctor  reminded  me  that  he  was  all  but  a  stranger  to 
Helena.  “  We  are  not  usually  interested,”  he  remarked, 
“  in  a  person  whom  we  only  know  by  sight.” 

“  Remember  that  he  is  a  young  man,”  I  ventured  to 
say.  This  was  a  strong  hint,  but  the  doctor  failed  to  see 
it.  He  had  evidently  forgotten  his  own  youth.  I  made 
another  attempt. 

“And  vile  as  Helena  is,”  I  continued,  “we  cannot  deny 
that  this  disgrace  to  her  sex  is  a  handsome  young  lady.” 

He  saw  it  at  last.  “Woman’s  wit!”  he  cried.  “You 
have  hit  it,  Miss  Jillgall.  The  young  fool  is  smitten  with 
her,  and  has  given  her  a  chance  of  making  her  escape.” 

“  Do  you  think  she  will  take  the  chance  ?” 

“For  all  our  sakes,  I  pray  God  she  may.  But  I  don’t 
feel  sure  about  it.”  * 

“  Why  ?” 

“  Recollect  what  you  and  Euneece  have  done.  You  have 
shown  your  suspicion  of  her  without  an  attempt  to  conceal 
it.  If  you  had  put  her  in  prison  you  could  not  have  more 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


283 


completely  defeated  her  infernal  design.  Do  you  think 
she  is  a  likely  person  to  submit  to  that,  without  an  effort 
to  be  even  with  you  ?” 

Just  as  he  said  those  terrifying  words,  Maria  came  back 
to  us.  He  asked  at  once  what  had  kept  her  so  long  up¬ 
stairs. 

The  girl  had  evidently  something  to  say,  which  had 
inflated  her  (if  I  may  use  such  an  expression)  with  a 
sense  of  her  own  importance. 

“Please  to  let  me  tell  it,  sir,”  she  answered,  “in  my 
own  way.  Miss  Helena  turned  as  pale  as  ashes  when  she 
opened  the  letter,  and  then  she  took  a  turn  in  the  room, 
and  then  she  looked  at  me  with  a  smile — well,  Miss,  I  can 
only  say  that  I  felt  that  smile  in  the  small  of  my  back.  I 
tried  to  get  to  the  door.  She  stopped  me.  She  says: 
‘Where’s  Miss  Euneece?’  I  says:  ‘  Gone  out.’  She  says: 
‘Is  there  anybody  in  the  drawing-room  ?  ’  I  says:  ‘No, 
Miss.’  She  says:  ‘Tell  Miss  Jillgall  I  want  to  speak  to 
her,  and  say  I  am  waiting  in  the  drawing-room.’  It’s 
every  word  of  it  true  !  And,  if  a  poor  servant  may  give 
an  opinion,  I  don’t  like  the  look  of  it.” 

The  doctor  dismissed  Maria.  “Whatever  it  is,”  he  said 
to  me,  “you  must  go  and  hear  it.” 

I  am  not  a  courageous  woman;  I  expressed  myself  as 
being  willing  to  go  to  her,  if  the  doctor  went  with  me. 
He  said  that  was  impossible;  she  would  probably  refuse 
to  speak  before  any  witness;  and  certainly  before  him. 
But  he  promised  to  look  after  Philip  in  my  absence,  and 
to  wait  below  if  it  really  so  happened  that  I  wanted  him. 
I  need  only  ring  the  bell,  and  he  would  come  to  me  the 
moment  he  heard  it.  Such  kindness  as  this  roused  my 
courage,  I  suppose.  At  any  rate,  I  went  up  stairs. 

She  was  standing  by  the  fireplace,  with  her  elbow  on 
the  chimneypiece,  and  her  head  resting  on  her  hand.  1 
stopped  just  inside  the  door,  waiting  to  hear  what  she 
had  to  say.  In  this  position  her  side-face  only  was  pre¬ 
sented  to  me.  It  was  a  ghastly  face.  The  eye  that  I 
could  see  turned  wickedly  on  me  when  I  came  in — then 
turned  away  again.  Otherwise,  she  never  moved.  I  con¬ 
fess  I  trembled,  but  I  did  my  best  to  disguise  it. 

She  broke  out  suddenly  with  what  she  had  to  say:  “I 
won’t  allow  this  state  of  things  to  go  on  any  longer.  My 
horror  of  an  exposure  which  will  disgrace  the  family  has 
kept  me  silent,  wrongly  silent,  so  far.  Philip’s  life  is  in 
danger,  I  am  forgetting  my  duty  to  my  affianced  hus- 


284 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


band,  if  I  allow  myself  to*  be  kept  away  from  him  any 
longer.  Open  those  locked  doors,  and  relieve  me  from 
the  sight  of  you.  Open  the  doors,  I  say,  or  you  will  both 
of  you — you  the  accomplice,  she  the  wretch  who  directs 
you — repent  it  to  the  end  of  your  lives.” 

In  my  own  mind,  I  asked  myself  if  she  had  gone  mad. 
But  I  only  answered:  “I  don’t  understand  you.” 

She  said  again:  “You  are  Euneece’s  accomplice.” 

“Accomplice  in  what?”  I  asked. 

She  turned  her  head  slowly,  and  faced  me.  I  shrank 
from  looking  at  her. 

“  All  the  circumstances  prove  it,”  she  went  on.  “  I  have 
supplanted  Euneece  in  Philip’s  affection.  She  was  once 
engaged  to  marry  him;  I  am  engaged  to  marry  him  now. 
She  is  resolved  that  he  shall  never  make  me  his  wife.  He 
will  die  if  I  delay  any  longer.  He  will  die  if  I  don’t 
crush  her,  like  the  reptile  she  is.  She  comes  here — and 
what  does  she  do?  Keeps  him  prisoner  under  her  own 
superintendence.  Who  gets  his  medicine  ?  She  gets  it. 
Who  cooks  his  food  ?  She  cooks  it.  The  doors  are 
locked.  I  might  be  a  witness  of  what  goes  on;  and  I  am 
kept  out.  The  servants  who  ought  to  wait  on  him  are 
kept  out.  She  can  do  what  she  likes  with  his  medicine; 
she  can  do  what  she  likes  with  his  food;  she  is  infuriated 
with  him  for  deserting  her,  and  promising  to  marry  me. 
Give  him  back  to  my  care,  or,  dreadful  as  it  is  to  denounce 
my  own  sister,  I  shall  claim  protection  from  the  magis¬ 
trates.” 

I  lost  all  fear  of  her;  I  stepped  close  up  to  the  place  at 
which  she  was  standing;  I  cried  out:  “  Of  what,  in  God’s 
name,  do  you  accuse  your  sister?” 

She  answered:  “I  accuse  her  of  poisoning  Philip  Dun- 
boyne.” 

I  ran  out  of  the  room;  I  rushed  headlong  down  the 
stairs.  The  doctor  heard  me,  and  came  running  into  the 
hall.  I  caught  hold  of  him  like  a  madwoman.  “Euneece!” 
My  breath  was  gone;  I  could  only  say:  “Euneece!” 

He  dragged  me  into  the  dining-room.  There  was  wine 
on  the  sideboard,  which  he  had  ordered  medically  for 
Philip.  He  forced  me  to  drink  some  of  it.  It  ran  through 
me  like  fire;  it  helped  me  to  speak.  “Now  tell  me,”  he 
said,  “what  has  she  done  to  Euneece?” 

“She  brings  a  horrible  accusation  against  her”  I 
answered. 

“What  is  the  accusation?” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


285 


I  told  him. 

He  looked  me  through  and  through.  “Take  care!”  he 
said.  “No  hysterics,  no  exaggeration.  You  may  lead  to 
dreadful  consequences  if  you  are  not  sure  of  yourself.  If 
it’s  really  true,  say  it  again.” 

I  said  it  again — quietly,  this  time. 

These  gentle  sweet-tempered  men  are  dreadful  when 
they  are  once  roused.  I  meant  to  have  repeated  to  him 
what  had  passed  upstairs.  There  was  a  fury  in  his  face 
that  burnt  up  the  words  on  my  lips.  He  snatched  his  hat 
off  the  hall  table. 

“  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?”  I  asked. 

“  My  duty.” 

He  was  out  of  the  house  before  I  could  speak  to  him 
again. 

LAST  PERIOD. 

CHAPTER  LXII. 

TROUBLES  AND  TRIUMPHS  OF  THE  FAMILY,  RELATED  BY  THE 

GOVERNOR. 

Martyrs  to  gout  know,  by  sad  experience,  that  they 
suffer  under  one  of  the  most  capricious  of  maladies.  An 
attack  of  this  disease  will  shift,  in  the  most  unaccountable 
manner,  from  one  part  of  the  body  to  another  ;  or,  it  will 
release  the  victim  when  there  is  every  reason  to  fear  that 
it  is  about  to  strengthen  its  hold  on  him  ;  or,  having 
shown  the  fairest  promise  of  submitting  to  medical  treat¬ 
ment,  it  will  cruelly  lay  the  patient  prostrate  again  in  a 
state  of  relapse.  Adverse  fortune,  in  my  case,  subjected 
me  to  this  last  and  worst  trial  of  endurance.  Two 
months  passed — months  of  pain  aggravated  by  anxiety — 
before  I  was  able  to  help  Eunice  and  Miss  Jillgall  person¬ 
ally  with  my  sympathy  and  advice. 

During  this  interval,  I  heard  regularly  from  the  friendly 
and  faithful  Selina. 

Terror  and  suspense,  courageously  endured  day  after 
day,  seem  to  have  broken  down  her  resistance,  poor  soul, 
when  Eunice’s  good  name  and  Eunice’s  tranquillity  were 
threatened  by  the  most  infamous  of  false  accusations. 
From  that  time,  Miss  Jillgall’s  method  of  expressing  her- 


286 


T. HE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


self  betrayed  a  gradual  deterioration.  I  shall  avoid  pre¬ 
senting  at  a  disadvantage  a  correspondent  who  has  claims 
on  my  gratitude,  if  I  give  the  substance  only  of  what  she 
wrote — assisted  by  the  newspapers  which  she  sent  to  me, 
while  the  legal  proceedings  were  in  progress. 

Honest  indignation  does  sometimes  counsel  us  wisely. 
When  the  doctor  left  Miss  Jillgall,  in  anger  and  in  haste, 
he  had  determined  on  taking  the  course  from  which,  as  a 
humane  man  and  a  faithful  friend,  he  had  hitherto  re¬ 
coiled.  It  was  no  time,  now,  to  shrink  from  the  prospect 
of  an  exposure.  The  one  hope  of  successfully  encounter¬ 
ing  the  vindictive  wickedness  of  Helena  lay  in  the  resolu¬ 
tion  to  be  beforehand  with  her,  in  the  appeal  to  the  mag¬ 
istrates  with  which  she  had  threatened  Eunice  and  Miss 
Jillgall.  The  doctor’s  sworn  information  stated  the  whole 
terrible  case  of  the  poisoning,  ranging  from  his  first  sus¬ 
picions  and  their  confirmation  to  Helena’s  atrocious  at¬ 
tempt  to  accuse  her  innocent  sister  of  her  own  guilt.  So 
firmly  were  the  magistrates  convinced  of  the  serious 
nature  of  the  case  thus  stated,  that  they  did  not  hesitate 
to  issue  their  warrant.  Among  the  witnesses  whose  attend¬ 
ance  was  immediately  secured,  by  the  legal  adviser  to 
whom  the  doctor  applied,  were  the  farmer  and  his  wife. 

Helena  was  arrested  while  she  was  dressing  to  go  out. 
Her  composure  was  not  for  a  moment  disturbed.  “  I 
was  on  my  way,”  she  said  coolly,  “to  make  a  statement 
before  the  justices.  The  sooner  they  hear  what  I  have  to 
say  the  better.” 

The  attempt  of  this  shameless  wretch  to  “  turn  the 
tables”  on  poor  Eunice — suggested,  as  I  afterwards  dis¬ 
covered,  by  the  record  of  family  history  which  she  had 
quoted  in  her  journal — was  defeated  with  ease.  The 
farmer  and  his  wife  proved  the  date  at  which  Eunice  had 
left  her  place  of  residence  under  their  roof.  The  doctor’s 
evidence  followed.  He  proved,  by  the  production  of  his 
professional  diary,  that  the  discovery  of  the  attempt  to 
poison  his  patient  had  taken  place  before  the  day  of 
Eunice’s  departure  from  the  farm,  and  that  the  first  im¬ 
provement  in  Mr.  Philip  Dunboyne’s  state  of  health  had 
shown  itself,  after  that  young  lady’s  arrival  to  perform 
the  duties  of  a  nurse.  To  the  wise  precautions  which  she 
had  taken — perverted  by  Helena  to  the  purpose  of  a  false 
accusation— the  doctor  attributed  the  preservation  of  the 
young  man’s  life. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


287 


Having  produced  the  worst  possible  impression  on  the 
minds  of  the  magistrates,  Helena  was  remanded.  Her 
legal  adviser  had  predicted  this  result;  but  the  vindictive 
obstinacy  of  his  client  had  set  both  experience  and  re¬ 
monstrance  at  defiance. 

At  the  renewed  examination,  the  line  of  defence  adopted 
by  the  prisoner’s  lawyer  proved  to  be — mistaken  identity. 

It  was  asserted  that  she  had  never  entered  the  chemist’s 
shop ;  also,  that  the  assistant  had  wrongly  identified  some 
other  lady  as  Miss  Helena  Gracedieu;  also,  that  there 
was  not  an  atom  of  evidence  to  connect  her  with  the  steal¬ 
ing  of  the  doctor’s  prescription-paper  and  the  forgery  of 
his  writing.  Other  assertions  to  the  same  purpose  fol¬ 
lowed,  on  which  it  is  needless  to  dwell.  The  case  for  the 
prosecution  w*as,  happily,  in  competent  hands.  With  the 
exception  of  one  witness,  cross-examination  afforded  no 
material  help  to  the  evidence  for  the  defence. 

The  chemist  swore  positively  to  the  personal  appear¬ 
ance  of  Helena,  as  being  the  personal  appearance  of  the 
lady  who  had  presented  the  prescription.  His  assistant, 
pressed  on  the  question  of  identity,  broke  down  under 
cross-examination — purposely,  as  it  was  whispered,  serv¬ 
ing  the  interests  of  the  prisoner.  But  the  victory,  so  far 
gained  by  the  defence,  was  successfully  contested  by  the 
statement  of  the  next  witness,  a  respectable  tradesman 
in  the  town.  He  had  seen  the  newspaper  report  of  the 
first  examination,  and  had  volunteered  to  present  himself 
as  a  witness.  A  member  of  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  congregation, 
his  pew  in  the  chapel  was  so  situated  as  to  give  him  a  view 
of  the  Minister’s  daughters  occupying  their  pew.  He  had 
seen  the  prisoner  on  every  Sunday,  for  years  past  ;  and  he 
swore  that  he  was  passing  the  door  of  the  chemist’s  shop, 
at  the  moment  when  she  stepped  out  into  the  street,  having 
a  bottle  covered  with  the  customary  white  paper  in  her 
hand.  The  doctor  and  his  servant  were  the  next  witness¬ 
es  called.  They  were  severely  cross-examined.  Some 
of  their  statements — questioned  technically  with  success 
— received  unexpected  and  powerful  support,  due  to  the 
discovery  and  production  of  the  prisoner’s  diary.  The 
entries,  guardedly  as  some  of  them  were  written,  revealed 
her  motive  for  attempting  to  poison  Philip  Dunboyne  ; 
proved  that  she  had  purposely  called  on  the  doctor  when 
she  knew  that  he  would  be  out,  that  she  had  entered  the 
consulting-room,  had  examined  the  medical  books,  had 
found  (to  use  her  own  written  words)  “a  volume  that  in- 


288 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


terested  her,”  and  had  used  the  prescription-papers  for  the 
purpose  of  making  notes.  The  notes  themselves  were  not 
to  be  found  ;  they  had  doubtless  been  destroyed.  Enough, 
and  more  than  enough,  remained  to  make  the  case  for  the 
prosecution  complete.  The  magistrates  committed  Helena 
Gracedieu  for  trial  at  the  next  assizes. 

I  arrived  in  the  town,  as  well  as  I  can  remember,  about 
a  week  after  the  trial  had  taken  place. 

Found  guilty,  the  prisoner  had  been  recommended  to 
mercy  by  the  jury — partly,  in  consideration  of  her  youth  ; 
partly,  as  an  expression  of  sympathy  and  respect  for  her 
unhappy  father.  The  judge  (a  father  himself)  passed  a 
lenient  sentence.  She  was  condemned  to  imprisonment 
for  two  years.  The  careful  matron  of  the  jail  had  pro¬ 
vided  herself  with  a  bottle  of  smelling-salts,  in  the  fear 
that  there  might  be  need  for  it  when  Helena  heard  her 
sentence  pronounced.  Not  the  slightest  sign  of  agitation 
appeared  in  her  face  or  her  manner.  She  lied  to  the  last  ; 
asserting  her  innocence  in  a  firm  voice,  and  returning  from 
the  dock  to  the  prison  without  requiring  assistance  from 
anybody. 

Relating  these  particulars  to  me,  in  a  state  of  ungovern¬ 
able  excitement,  good  Miss  Jillgall  ended  with  a  little 
confession  of  her  own  which  operated  as  a  relief  to  my 
overburdened  mind,  after  what  I  had  just  heard. 

“I  wouldn’t  own  it,”  she  said,  “to  anybody  but  a  dear 
friend.  One  thing,  in  the  dreadful  disgrace  that  has  fallen 
on  us,  I  am  quite  at  a  loss  to  account  for.  Think  of  Mr. 
Gracedieu’s  daughter  being  one  of  those  criminal  creat¬ 
ures,  pn  whom  it  was  once  your  terrible  duty  to  turn  the 
key  !  Why  didn’t  she  commit  suicide  ?” 

“  My  dear  lady,  no  thoroughly  wicked  creature  ever  yet 
committed  suicide.  Self-destruction,  when  it  is  not  an  act 
of  madness,  implies  some  acuteness  of  feeling — sensibility 
to  remorse  or  to  shame,  or  perhaps  a  distorted  idea  of  mak¬ 
ing  atonement.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  remorse  or 
shame,  or  hope  of  making  atonement,  in  Helena’s  nature.” 

“  But  when  she  comes  out  of  prison,  what  will  she  do  ?” 

“  Don’t  alarm  yourself,  my  good  friend.  She  will  do 
very  well.” 

“Oh,  hush!  hush  !  Poetical  justice,  Mr.  Governor!” 

“  Poetical  fiddlesticks,  Miss  Jillgall.” 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN \ 


289 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 

When  the  subject  of  the  trial  was  happily  dismissed,  my 
first  inquiry  related  to  Eunice.  The  reply  was  made  with 
an  ominous  accompaniment  of  sighs  and  sad  looks. 
Eunice  had  gone  back  to  her  duties  as  governess  at  the 
farm.  Hearing  this,  I  asked  naturally  what  had  become 
of  Philip. 

Melancholy  news,  again,  was  the  news  that  I  now  heard, 

Mr.  Dunboyne  the  elder  had  died  suddenly,  at  his  house 
in  Ireland,  while  Philip  was  on  his  way  home.  When  the 
funeral  ceremony  had  come  to  an  end,  the  will  was  read. 
It  had  been  made  only  a  few  days  before  the  testator’s 
death  ;  and  the  clause  which  left  all  his  property  to  his  son 
was  preceded  by  expressions  of  paternal  affection,  at  a 
time  when  Philip  was  in  sore  need  of  consolation.  After 
alluding  to  a  letter,  received  from  his  son,  the  old  man 
added  :  “  I  always  loved  him,  without  caring  to  confess 
it  ;  I  detest  scenes  of  sentiment,  kissings,  embracings, 
tears,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  But  Philip  has  yielded  to 
my  wishes,  and  has  broken  off  a  marriage  which  would 
have  made  him,  as  well  as  me,  wretched  for  life.  After 
this,  I  may  speak  my  mind  from  my  grave,  and  may  tell 
my  boy  that  I  loved  him.  If  the  wish  is  likely  to  be  of 
any  use,  I  will  add  (on  the  chance) — God  bless  him.” 

“Does  Philip  submit  to  separation  from  Eunice?”  I 
asked.  “  Does  he  stay  in  Ireland  ?” 

“Not  he,  poor  fellow!  He  will  be  here,  to-morrow  or 
next  day.  When  I  last  wrote,”  Miss  Jillgali  continued, 
“  I  told  him  I  hoped  to  see  you  again  soon.  If  you  can’t 
help  us  (I  mean  with  Eunice),  that  unlucky  young  man 
will  do  some  desperate  thing.  He  will  join  those  mad¬ 
men  at  large,  who  disturb  poor  savages  in  Africa,  or  go 
nowhere  to  find  nothing  in  the  arctic  regions.” 

“Whatever  I  can  do,  Miss  Jillgali,  shall  be  gladly  done. 
Is  it  really  possible  that  Eunice  refuses  to  marry  him, 
after  having  saved  his  life  ?” 

“A  little  patience,  please,  Mr.  Governor;  let  Philip  tell 
his  own  story.  If  I  try  to  do  it,  I  shall  only  cry — and  we 
have  had  tears  enough  lately,  in  this  house.” 

Further  consultation  being  thus  deferred,  I  went  up¬ 
stairs  to  the  Minister’s  room. 


290 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


He  was  sitting  by  the  window,  in  his  favorite  arm¬ 
chair,  absorbed  in  knitting!  The  person  who  attended 
on  him,  a  good-natured  patient  fellow,  had  been  a  sailor 
in  his  younger  days,  and  had  taught  Mr.  Gracedieu  how 
to  use  the  needles.  “You  see  it  amuses  him,”  the  man 
said  kindly.  “Don’t  notice  his  mistakes;  he  thinks  there 
isn’t  such  another  in  the  world  for  knitting  as  himself. 
You  can  see,  sir,  how  he  sticks  to  it.”  He  was  so  absorbed 
over  his  employment  that  I  had  to  speak  to  him  twice, 
before  I  could  induce  him  to  look  at  me.  The  utter  ruin 
of  his  intellect  did  not  appear  to  have  exercised  any  dis¬ 
astrous  influence  over  his  bodily  health.  On  the  contrary, 
he  had  grown  fatter  since  I  had  last  seen  him;  his  com¬ 
plexion  had  lost  the  pallor  that  I  remembered — there  was 
colcr  in  his  cheeks.  “  Don’t  you  remember  your  old 
friend  ?”  I  said.  He  smiled,  and  nodded,  and  repeated 
the  words:  “Yes,  yes;  my  old  friend.”  It  was  only  too 
plain  that  he  had  not  the  least  recollection  of  me.  “  His 
memory  is  gone,”  the  man  said.  “When  he  puts  away 
his  knitting,  at  night,  I  have  to  find  it  for  him  in  the 
morning.  But,  there!  he’s  happy — enjoys  his  victuals, 
likes  sitting  out  in  the  garden  and  watching  the  birds. 
There’s  been  a  deal  of  trouble  in  the  family,  sir;  and  it 
has  all  passed  over  him  like  a  wet  sponge  over  a  slate.” 
The  old  sailor  was  right.  If  that  wreck  of  a  man  had  been 
capable  of  feeling  and  thinking,  his  daughter’s  disgrace 
would  have  broken  his  heart.  In  a  world  of  sin  and 
sorrow,  is  peaceable  imbecility  always  to  be  pitied  ?  I 
have  known  men  who  would  have  answered,  without  hesi¬ 
tation:  “It  is  to  be  envied.” 

At  breakfast,  on  the  next  day,  the  talk  touched  on  those 
passages  in  Helena’s  diary  which  had  been  produced  in 
court  as  evidence  against  hey. 

I  expressed  a  wish  to  see  what  revelation  of  a  depraved 
nature  the  entries  in  the  diary  might  present;  and  my 
curiosity  was  gratified.  At  a  fitter  time,  I  may  find  an 
opportunity  of  alluding  to  the  impression  produced  on 
me  by  the  diary.  In  the  mean  while,  the  event  of  Philip’s 
return  claims  notice  in  the  first  place. 

The  poor  fellow  was  so  glad  to  see  me  that  he  shook 
hands  as  heartily  as  if  we  had  known  each  other  from  the 
time  when  he  was  a  boy. 

“  Do  you  remember  how  kindly  you  spoke  to  me,  when 
I  called  on  you  in  London?”  he  asked.  “If  I  have  re- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


291 


peated  those  words  once — but  perhaps  you  don’t 
remember  them  ?  You  said:  *  If  I  was  as  young  as  you 
are,  I  should  not  despair.’  Well!  I  have  said  that  to  my¬ 
self  over  and  over  again,  for  a  hundred  times  at  least. 
Eunice  will  listen  to  you,  sir,  when  she  will  listen  to  no¬ 
body  else.  This  is  the  first  happy  moment  I  have  had  for 
weeks  past.” 

I  suppose  I  must  have  looked  glad  to  hear  that.  Any¬ 
way,  Philip  shook  hands  with  me  again. 

Miss  Jillgall  was  present.  The  gentle-hearted  old  maid 
was  so  touched  by  our  meeting  that  she  abandoned  her¬ 
self  to  the  genial  impulse  of  the  moment,  and  gave  Philip 
a  kiss.  The  outraged  claims  of  propriety  instantly  seized 
on  her.  She  blushed  as  if  the  long-lost  days  of  her  girl¬ 
hood  had  been  found  again,  and  ran  out  of  the  room. 

“Now,  Mr.  Philip,”  I  said,  “I  have  been  waiting,  at 
Miss  J il lgall’s  suggestion,  to  get  my  information  from  you. 
There  is  something  wrong  between  Eunice  and  yourself. 
What  is  it  ?  and  who  is  to  blame  ?” 

“Her  vile  sister  is  to  blame,”  he  answered.  “That  rep¬ 
tile  was  determined  to  sting  us.  And  she  has  done  it!” 
lie  cried,  starting  to  his  feet,  and  walking  up  and  down 
the  room,  urged  into  action  by  his  own  unendurable  sense 
of  wrong.  “  I  say,  she  has  done  it,  after  Eunice  has  saved 
me — done  it,  when  Eunice  was  ready  to  be  my  wife.” 

“  How  has  she  done  it  ?” 

Between  grief  and  indignation  his  reply  was  in¬ 
volved  in  a  confusion  of  vehemently-spoken  words,  which 
I  shall  not  attempt  to  reproduce.  Eunice  had  reminded 
him  that  her  sister  had  been  publicly  convicted  of  an  in¬ 
famous  crime,  and  publicly  punished  for  it  by  imprison¬ 
ment.  “  If  I  consent  to  marry  you,”  she  said,  “  I’ll  stain 
you  with  my  disgrace;  that  shall  never  be.”  With  this 
resolution  she  had  left  him.  “  I  have  tried  to  convince 
her,”  Philip  said,  “  that  she  will  not  be  associated  with  her 
sister’s  disgrace  when  she  bears  my  name;  I  have  prom¬ 
ised  to  take  her  far  away  from  England,  among  people 
who  have  never  even  heard  of  her  sister.  Miss  Jillgall  has 
used  her  influence  to  help  me.  All  in  vain!  There  is  no 
hope  for  us  but  in  you.  I  am  not  thinking  selfishly  only 
of  myself.  She  tries  to  conceal  it — but,  oh,  she  is  broken¬ 
hearted!  Ask  the  farmer’s  wife,  if  you  don’t  believe  me. 
Judge  for  yourself,  sir.  Go— for  God’s  sake,  go  to  the 
farm.” 

I  made  him  sit  down  and  compose  himself. 


2<)2 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


“  You  may  depend  on  my  going  to  the  farm,”  I  answered. 
“I  shall  write  to  Eunice  to-day,  and  follow  my  letter  to¬ 
morrow.”  He  tried  to  thank  me;  but  I  would  not  allow 
it.  “  Before  I  consent  to  accept  the  expression  of  your 
gratitude,”  I  said,  “I  must  know  a  little  more  of  you  than 
I  know  now.  This  is  only  the  second  occasion  on  which 
we  have  met.  Let  us  look  back  a  little,  Mr.  Philip  Dun- 
boy  ne.  You  were  Eunice’s  affianced  husband;  and  you 
broke  faith  with  her.  That  was  a  rascally  action.  How 
do  you  defend  it  ?” 

His  head  sank.  “I  am  ashamed  to  defend  it,”  he  an¬ 
swered. 

I  pressed  him  without  mercy.  “You  own  yourself,”  I 
said,  “  that  it  was  a  rascally  action  ?” 

“Use  stronger  language  against  me,  even,  than  that,  sir 
— I  deserve  it.” 

“  In  plain  words,”  I  went  on,  “you  can  find  no  excuse 
for  your  conduct  ?” 

“  In  the  past  time,”  he  said,  “  I  might  have  found  ex¬ 
cuses.” 

“  But  vou  can’t  find  them  now  ?” 

“I  must  not  even  look  for  them  now.” 

“  Why  not  ?” 

“  I  owe  it  to  Eunice  to  leave  my  conduct  at  its  worst; 
with  nothing  said — by  me — to  defend  it.” 

“What  has  Eunice  done  to  have  such  a  claim  on  you  as 
that  ?” 

“Eunice  has  forgiven  me.” 

It  was  gratefully  and  delicately  said.  From  that  mo¬ 
ment  (if  it  had  not  been  too  soon  to  trust  him  with  the 
confession  I  might  have  owned  that  I  forgave  him,  too. 
But  the  duty  yet  lay  before  me  of  making  myself  ac¬ 
quainted  with  the  circumstances,  from  beginning  to  end, 
of  Eunice’s  melancholy  love-story.  Justified  by  my  own 
knowledge,  I  might  accept  the  position — the  critical  posi¬ 
tion,  as  I  shall  presently  show — of  Philip’s  friend. 

After  more  than  an  hour  of  questions  put  without  re¬ 
serve,  and  of  answers  given  without  prevarication,  I  had 
travelled  over  the  whole  ground  laid  out  by  the  narratives 
which  appear  in  these  pages,  and  had  arrived  at  my  con¬ 
clusion.  There  was  Philip  Dunboyne,  before  me,  resign¬ 
edly  waiting  for  my  decision.  A  man  with  nothing  abso¬ 
lutely  wicked  in  him — but  with  a  nature  so  perilously 
weak,  in  many  respects,  that  it  might  drift  into  wicked¬ 
ness  unless  a  stronger  nature  was  at  hand  to  hold  it  back. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


*93 


Married  to  a  wife  without  force  of  character,  the  proba¬ 
bilities  would  point  to  him  as  likely  to  yield  to  examples  ' 
which  might  make  him  a  bad  husband.  Married  to  a 
wife  with  a  will  of  her  own,  and  with  true  love  to  sustain 
her — a  wife  who  would  know  when  to  take  the  command, 
and  how  to  take  the  command — a  wife  who,  finding  him 
tempted  to  commit  actions  unworthy  of  his  better  self, 
would  be  far-sighted  enough  to  perceive  that  her  hus¬ 
band’s  sense  of  honor  might  sometimes  lose  its  balance, 
without  being  on  that  account  hopelessly  depraved — then, 
and  in  these  cases  only,  the  probabilities  would  point  to 
Philip  as  a  man  likely  to  be  the  better  and  the  happier  for 
his  situation,  when  the  bonds  of  wedlock  had  got  him.  To 
the  best  of  my  ability  I  formed  my  judgment — and  this, 
briefly  stated,  was  the  result. 

So  I  offered  my  hand  to  Philip,  and  told  him  that  he 
might  consider  me  as  his  friend — with  Eunice’s  best  in¬ 
terests  always  held  in  reserve. 

%  My  next  proceeding  was  to  shut  myself  up  in  my  room, 
and  to  seriously  consider  what  course  I  should  take,  when 
I  went  to  the  farm-house  on  the  next  day. 

Knowing  what  I  alone  knew,  I  held  the  marriage  of 
these  two  young  people  at  my  disposal.  I  had  only  to  re¬ 
late  what  had  happened  on  the  day  when  the  Chaplain 
brought  the  Minister  to  the  prison,  and  the  one  obstacle 
to  their  union  would  be  removed.  But,  without  consider¬ 
ing  Philip,  it  was  simply  out  of  the  question  to  do  this, 
in  mercy  to  Eunice  herself.  What  was  Helena’s  disgrace, 
compared  with  the  infamy  which  stained  the  name  of  the 
poor  girl’s  mother  ?  The  other  alternative  of  telling  part 
of  the  truth  only  was  before  me,  if  I  could  persuade  my¬ 
self  to  adopt  it.  Rashly  enough,  no  doubt,  I  left  my  de¬ 
cision  to  be  influenced  by  the  coming  interview  with 
Eunice. 

The  next  day  I  drove  to  the  farm.  Philip’s  entreaties 
persuaded  me  to  let  him  be  my  companion,  on  one  con¬ 
dition — that  he  waited  in  the  carriage  while  I  went  into 
the  house. 

I  had  carefully  arranged  my  ideas,  and  had  decided  on 
proceeding  with  the  greatest  caution,  before  I  ventured 
on  saying"  the  all-important  words  which,  once  spoken, 
were  not  to  be  recalled.  The  worst  of  those  anxieties, 
under  which  the  delicate  health  of  Mr.  Gracedieu  had 
broken  down,  was  my  anxiety  now.  Could  I  reconcile  it 
to  my  conscience  to  permit  a  man,  innocent  of  all  knowl- 


294 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


edge  of  the  truth,  to  marry  the  daughter  of  a  condemned 
murderess,  without  honestly  telling  him  what  he  was 
about  to  do  ?  Did  I  deserve  to  be  pitied  ?  did  I  deserve  to 
be  blamed  ? — my  mind  was  still  undecided  when  I  entered 
the  house. 

She  ran  to  meet  me  as  if  she  had  been  my  daughter; 
she  kissed  me  as  if  she  had  been  my  daughter;  she  fondly 
looked  up  at  me  as  if  she  had  been  my  daughter.  At  the 
sight  of  that  sweet  young  face,  so  sorrowful,  and  so  pa¬ 
tiently  enduring  sorrow,  all  my  prepared  talk,  all  my 
doubts  and  hesitations,  everything  artificial  about  me 
with  which  I  had  entered  the  room,  vanished  in  an  in¬ 
stant.  I  was  resolved,  come  what  might  of  it,  that  she 
should  marry  Philip.  Impulse,  in  a  man  at  the  end  of  his 
life?  Yes,  impulse — and  nothing  else. 

After  she  had  thanked  me  for  coming  to  see  her,  I  saw 
her  tremble  a  little.  The  uppermost  interest  in  her 
heart  was  forcing  its  way  outwards  to  expression,  try  as 
she  might  to  keep  it  back.  “  Have  you  seen  Philip  ?”  she. 
asked. 

I  was  utterly  reckless;  I  owned  that  he  was  outside,  in 
the  carriage.  Before  she  could  reproach  me,  I  went  on 
with  what  I  had  to  say:  “  My  child,  I  know  what  a  sacri¬ 
fice  you  have  made;  and  I  should  honor  your  scruples,  if 
you  had  any  reason  for  feeling  them.” 

“  Any  reason  for  feeling  them  ?”  She  turned  pale  as 
she  repeated  the  words. 

An  idea  came  to  me.  I  rang  for  the  servant,  and  sent 
her  to  the  carriage  to  tell  Philip  to  come  in.  “  My  dear, 

I  am  not  putting  you  to  any  unfair  trial,”  I  assured  her; 

“  I  am  going  to  prove  that  I  love  you  as  truly  as  if  you 
were  my  own  child.”  • 

When  they  were  both  present,  I  resolved  that  they 
should  not  suffer  a  moment  of  needless  suspense.  Stand¬ 
ing  between  them,  I  took  Eunice’s  hand,  and  laid  my  other 
hand  on  Philip’s  shoulder,  and  spoke  out  plainly. 

“  I  am  here  to  make  you  both  happy,”  I  said.  “I  can 
remove  the  only  obstacle  to  your  marriage,  and  I  mean  to 
do  it.  But  I  must  insist  on  one  condition.  Give  me 
your  promise,  Philip,  that  you  will  ask  for  no  explana¬ 
tions,  and  that  you  will  be  satisfied  with  the  one  true 
statement,  which  is  all  that  I  can  offer  to  you.” 

He  gave  me  his  promise,  without  an  instant’s  hesita¬ 
tion. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


295 

“Philip  grants  what  I  ask,”  I  said  to  Eunice.  “Do 
you  grant  it,  too?” 

Her  hand  turned  cold  in  mine;  but  she  spoke  firmly 
when  she  said  “Yes.” 

I  gave  her  into  Philip’s  care.  It  was  his  privilege  to 
console  and  support  her.  It  was  my  duty  to  say  the  de¬ 
cisive  words: 

“  Rouse  your  courage,  dear  Eunice;  you  are  no  more 
affected  by  Helena’s  disgrace  than  I  am.  You  are  not  her 
sister.  Her  father  is  not  your  father;  her  mother  was 
not  your  mother.  I  was  present,  in  the  time  of  your 
infancy,  when  Mr.  Gracedieu’s  fatherly  kindness  received 
you  as  his  adopted  child.  This,  I  declare  to  you  both, 
on  my  word  of  honor,  is  the  truth.” 

How  she  bore  it,  I  am  not  able  to  say.  My  foolish  old 
eyes  were  filling  with  tears.  I  could  just  see  plainly 
enough  to  find  my  way  to  the  door,  and  leave  them  to¬ 
gether. 

What  had  I  done  ? 

That  was  not  the  question.  I  had  done  well,  if  their 
happiness  justified  me. 

What  had  I  concealed  ? 

I  left  Time  to  be  my  accomplice,  and  keep  the  secret: 
or  to  be  my  enemy,  and  betray  me.  The  chances,  either 
way,  were  perhaps  equal.  The  deed  was  done. 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

The  marriage  was  deferred,  at  Eunice’s  request,  as  an 
expression  of  respect  to  the  memory  of  Philip’s  father. 

When  the  time  of  delay  had  passed,  it  was  arranged 
that  the  wedding  ceremony  should  be  held — after  due 
publication  of  Banns — at  the  parish  church  of  the  Lon¬ 
don  suburb  in  which  my  house  was  situated.  Miss  J ill- 
gall  was  bridesmaid,  and  I  gave  away  the  bride.  Before 
we  set  out  for  the  church,  Eunice  asked  leave  to  speark 
with  me  for  a  moment  in  private. 

“Don’t  think,”  she  said,  “that  I  am  forgetting  my 
promise  to  be  content  with  what  you  have  told  me  about 
myself.  I  am  not  so  ungrateful  as  that.  But  I  do  want, 
before  I  consent  to  be  Philip’s  wife,  to  feel  sure  that  I 
am  not  quite  unworthy  of  him.  Is  it  because  I  am  of 


296 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


mean  birth  that  you  told  me  I  was  Mr.  Gracedieu’s 
adopted  child — and  told  me  no  more  ?” 

I  could  honestly  satisfy  her  so  far.  “  Certainly  not  !”  I 

said. 

She  put  her  arms  round  my  neck.  “  Do  you  say  that,” 
she  asked,  “to  make  my  mind  easy?  or  do  you  say  it  on 
your  word  of  honor?” 

“  On  my  word  of  honor.” 

We  arrived  at  the  church.  Let  Miss  Jill  gall  describe 
the  marriage  in  her  own  inimitable  way. 

“  No  wedding  breakfast,  when  you  don’t  want  to  eat 
it.  No  wedding  speeches,  when  nobody  wants  to 
make  them,  and  nobody  wants  to  hear  them.  And  no 
false  sentiment,  shedding  tears  and  reddening  noses,  on 
the  happiest  day  of  the  whole  year.  A  model  marriage  ! 
I  could  desire  nothing  better,  if  I  had  any  prospect  of 
being  a  bride  myself.” 

They  went  away  for  their  honeymoon  to  a  quiet  place 
by  the  seaside,  not  very  far  from  the  town  in  which 
Eunice  had  passed  some  of  the  happiest  and  the  wretch- 
edest  days  in  her  life.  She  persisted  in  thinking  it  possi¬ 
ble  that  Mr.  Gracedieu  might  recover  the  use  of  his  facul¬ 
ties  at  the  last,  and  might  wish  to  see  her  on  his  death¬ 
bed.  “  His  adopted  daughter,”  she  gently  reminded  me, 
“  is  his  only  daughter  now.”  The  doctor  shook  his  head 
when  I  told  him  what  Eunice  had  said  to  me — and,  the 
sad  truth  must  be  told,  the  doctor  was  right. 

Miss  Jillgall  returned,  on  the  wedding  day,  to  take  care 
of  the  good  man  who  had  befriended  her  in  her  hour  of 
need. 

Before  the  end  of  the  week  I  heard  from  her,  and  was 
disagreeably  reminded  of  an  incident  which  we  had  both 
forgotten,  absorbed  as  we  were  in  other  and  greater  inter¬ 
ests,  at  the  time. 

Mrs.  Tenbruggen  had  again  appeared  on  the  scene  ! 
She  had  written  to  Miss  Jillgall,  from  Paris,  to  say  that 
she  had  heard  of  old  Mr.  Dunboyne’s  death,  and  that  she 
wished  to  have  the  letter  returned  which  she  had  left  for 
delivery  to  Philip’s  father  on  the  day  when  Philip  and 
Eunice  were  married.-  I  had  my  own  suspicions  of  what 
that  letter  might  contain;  and  I  regretted  that  Miss  Jill¬ 
gall  had  sent  it  back  without  first  waiting  to  consult  me. 
My  misgivings,  thus  excited,  were  increased  by  more 
news  of  no  very  welcome  kind.  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  had 
decided  on  returning  to  her  professional  pursuits  in  Eng- 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN . 


297 


land.  Massage,  now  the  fashion  everywhere,  had  put 
money  into  her  pocket  among  the  foreigners;  and  her 
husband,  finding  that  she  persisted  in  keeping  out  of  his 
reach,  had  consented  to  a  compromise.  He  was  ready  to 
submit  to  a  judicial  separation,  in  consideration  of  a  little 
income  which  his  wife  had  consented  to  settle  on  him, 
under  the  advice  of  her  lawyer. 

Some  days  later  I  received  a  delightful  letter  from 
Philip  and  Eunice,  reminding  me  that  I  had  engaged  to 
pay  them  a  visit  at  the  seaside.  My  room  was  ready  for 
me,  and  I  was  left  to  choose  my  own  day.  I  had  just 
begun  to  write  my  reply,  gladly  accepting  the  invitation, 
when  an  ominous  circumstance  occurred.  My  servant 
announced  “a  lady;”  and  I  found  myself  face  to  face  with 
— Mrs.  Tenbruggen. 

She  was  as  cheerful  as  ever,  and  as  eminently  agreeable 
as  ever. 

“  I  have  heard  it  all  from  Selina,”  she  said.  “  Philip’s 
marriage  to  Eunice  (I  shall  go  and  congratulate  them,  of 
course),  and  the  catastrophe  (how  dramatic  !)  of  Helena 
Gracedieu.  I  warned  Selina  that  Miss  Helena  would  end 
badly.  To  tell  the  truth,  she  frightened  me.  I  don’t 
deny  that  I  am  a  mischievous  woman  when  I  find  myself 
affronted,  quite  capable  of  taking  my  revenge  in  my  own 
small  spiteful  way.  But  poison  and  murder — ah,  the 
frightful  subject;  let  us  drop  it,  and  talk  of  something 
that  doesn’t  make  my  hair  (it’s  really  my  own  hair)  stand 
on  end.  Has  Selina  told  you  that  I  have  got  rid  of  my 
charming  husband,  on  easy  pecuniary  terms?  Oh,  you 
know  that?  Very  well.  I  will  tell  you  something  that 
you  don’t  know.  Mr.  Governor,  I  have  found  you  out.” 

“  May  I  venture  to  ask  how?”  ’ 

“  When  I  guessed  which  was  which  of  those  two  girls,’ 
she  answered,  “and  guessed  wrong,  you  deliberately  en¬ 
couraged  the  mistake.  Very  clever,  but  you  overdid  it. 
From  that  moment,  though  I  kept  it  to  myself,  I  began  to 
fear  I  might  be  wrong.  Do  you  remember  Low 
Lanes,  my  dear  sir  ?  A  charming  old  church.  My  lawyer 
consulted  the  Register;  and  the  date  of  Helena’s  birthday 
set  me  right  at  last.  I  know,  as  well  as  you  do,  that 
Philip  has  married  the  adopted  child.  He  has  had  a 
mother-in-law  who  was  hanged,  and,  what  is  more,  he  has 
the  honor,  through  his  late  father,  of  being  otherwise 
connected  with  the  murderess  by  marriage — as  his  aunt!” 

Bewilderment  and  dismay  deprived  me  of  my  presence 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


of  mind.  “  How  did  you  discover  that  ?”  I  was  foolish 
enough  to  ask. 

“  Do  you  remember  when  I  brought  the  baby  to  the 
prison  ?”  she  said.  “The  father — as  I  mentioned  at  the 
time — had  been  a  dear  and  valued  friend  of  mine.  No 
person  could  be  better  qualified  to  tell  me  who  had  mar¬ 
ried  his  wife’s  sister.  If  that  lady  had  been  living,  I  should 
never  have  been  troubled  with  the  charge  of  the  child. 
Any  more  questions?” 

“  Only  one.  Is  Philip  to  hear  of  this  ?” 

“Oh,  for  shame  !  I  don’t  deny  that  Philip  insulted  me 
grossly,  in  one  way;  and  that  Philip’s  late  father  insulted 
me  grossly,  in  another  way.  But  Mama  Tenbruggen  is  a 
Christian.  She  returns  good  for  evil,  and  wouldn’t  for 
the  world  disturb  the  connubial  felicity  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Philip  Dunboyne.” 

The  moment  the  woman  was  out  of  my  house,  I  sent  a 
telegram  to  Philip  to  say  that  he  might  expect  to  see  me 
that  night.  I  caught  the  last  train  in  the  evening;  and  I 
sat  down  to  supper  with  those  two  harmless  young  crea- 
ures,  knowing  I  must  prepare  the  husband  for  what 
threatened  them,  and  weakly  deferring  it,  when  I  found 
myself  in  their  presence,  until  the  next  day.  Eunice  was, 
in  some  degree,  answerable  for  this  hesitation  on  my  part. 
No  one  could  look  at  her  husband,  and  fail  to  see  that  he 
was  a  supremely  happy  man.  But  I  detected  signs  of 
care  in  the  wife’s  face. 

Before  breakfast  the  next  morning  I  was  out  on  the 
beach,  trying  to  decide  how  the  inevitable  disclosure 
might  be  made.  Eunice  joined  me.  Now,  when  we  were 
alone,  I  asked  if  she  was  really  and  completely  happy. 
Quietly  and  sadly  she  answered:  “  Not  yet.” 

I  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  My  face  -must  have  ex¬ 
pressed  disappointment  and  surprise. 

“  I  shall  never  be  quite  happy,”  she  resumed,  “  till 
I  know  what  it  is  that  you  kept  from  me  on  that  memo 
rable  day.  I  don’t  like  having  a  secret  from  my  husband 
— though  it  is  not  my  secret.” 

“Remember  your  promise,”  I  said. 

“  I  don’t  forget  it,”  she  answered.  “I  can  only  wish 
that  my  promise  would  keep  back  the  thoughts  that  come 
to  me  in  spite  of  myself.” 

“  What  thoughts  ?” 

“  There  is  something,  as  I  believe,  in  the  story  of  my 
parents  which  you  are  afraid  to  confide  to  me,  Qh,  if 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN.  299 

you  would  only  trust  me!  I  could  bear  anything  better 
than  my  own  dreadful  doubts  !” 

“  My  dear,  I  relieved  your  mind  of  those  doubts  on  the 
morning  of  your  marriage.” 

“  No.  My  mother — the  doubt  of  her  is  the  doubt  that 
torments  me  now.” 

“  What  do  you  mean  ?” 

She  put  her  arm  in  mine,  and  held  by  it  with  both  hands. 

“  The  mock-mother  !”  she  whispered.  “Do  you  remem¬ 
ber  that  dreadful  Vision,  that  horrid  whispering  tempta¬ 
tion  in  the  dead  of  night  ?  Was  it  a  mock-mother?  Oh, 
pity  me  !  I  don’t  know  who  my  mother  was.  I  daren’t 
ask  myself. if  she  was  good  or  bad!” 

Those  words  decided  me  at  last.  Could  she  suffer 
more  than  she  had  suffered  already,  if  T  trusted  her  with 
the  truth  ?  I  ran  the  risk.  There  was  a  time  of  silence 
that  filled  me  with  terror.  The  interval  passed.  She 
took  my  hand,  and  put  it  to  her  heart.  u  Does  it  beat  as 
if  I  was  frightened  ?”  she  asked. 

No  !  It  was  beating  calmly. 

“Does  it  relieve  your  anxiety  ?” 

It  told  me  that  I  had  not  surprised  her.  That  unfor¬ 
gotten  Vision  of  the  night  had  prepared  her  for  the  worst. 
“I  know,”  I  said,  “that  those  whispered  temptations 
overpowered  you  again,  when  you  and  Helena  met  on  the 
stairs,  and  you  forbade  her  to  enter  Philip’s  room.  And 
I  know  that  love  had  conquered  once  more  when  you 
were  next  seen  sitting  by  Philip’s  bedside.  Tell  me — 
have  you  any  misgivings  now?  Is  there  fear  in  your 
heart  of  the  return  of  that  tempting  spirit  in  you,  in  the 
time  to  come  ?” 

“  Not  while  Philip  lives  !” 

There,  where;  her  love  was — there  her  safety  was.  And 
she  knew  it  !  She  suddenly  left  me.  I  asked  where  she 
was  going. 

“  To  tell  Philip,”  was  the  reply. 

She  was  waiting  for  me  at  the  door,  when  I  followed 
her  to  the  house. 

“  Is  it  done  ?”  I  said. 

“It  is  done,”  she  answered. 

“  What  did  he  say  ?” 

“He  said:  ‘My  darling,  if  I  could  be  fonder  of  you 
than  ever,  I  should  be  fonder  of  you  now.’” 

I  have  been  blamed  for  being  too  ready  to  confide  to 
Philip  th®  precious  trust  of  Eunice’s  happiness.  If  that 


300 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CAIN. 


reply  does  not  justify  me,  where  is  justification  to  be 
found  ? 

Postcript. 

Later  in  the  day,  Mrs.  Tenbruggen  arrived  to  offer  her 
congratulations.  She  asked  for  a  few  minutes  with 
Philip  alone.  As  a  cat  elaborates  her  preparations  for 
killing  a  mouse,  so  the  human  cat  elaborated  her  prepara¬ 
tions  for  killing  Philip’s  happiness.  He  remained  unin¬ 
jured  by  her  teeth  and  her  claws.  “  Somebody,”  she  said, 
“has  told  you  of  it  already?”  And  Philip  answered: 
“  Yes,  my  wife.” 

For  some  months  longer  Mr.  Gracedieu  lingered.  One 
morning,  he  said  to  Eunice:  “I  want  to  teach. you  to  knit. 
Sit  by  me,  and  see  me  do  it.”  His  hands  fell  softly  on 
his  lap;  his  head  sank  little  by  little  on  her  shoulder. 
She  could  just  hear  him  whisper:  “  How  pleasant  it  is  to 
sleep  !”  Never  was  Death’s  dreadful  work  more  gently 
done. 

Our  married  pair  live  now  on  the  paternal  estate  in  Ire¬ 
land;  and  Miss  Jillgall  reigns  queen  of  domestic  affairs. 
I  am  still  strong  enough  to  pass  my  autumn  holidays  in 
that  pleasant  house. 

At  times,  my  memory  reverts  to  Helena  Gracedieu. 

The  reading  of  her  diary  had  set  her  before  me  a  self- 
painted  fiend.  How  little  I  knew  of  that  terrible  crea¬ 
ture  when  I  first  met  with  her,  and  thought  she  was  the 
true  child  of  her  mother  !  It  was  weak  indeed  to  com¬ 
pare  the  mean  little  vices  of  Mrs.  Gracedieu  with  the  dia¬ 
bolical  depravity  of  her  daughter’s  nature  !  Here,  the 
doctrine  of  hereditary  transmission  of  moral  qualities 
must  own  that  it  fails.  Helena  inherits  nothing.  The 
wickedness  that  originates  in  itself  is  the  wickedness  that 
festers  in  that  black  soul. 

She  left  the  prison,  on  the  expiration  of  her  sentence, 
so  secretly  that  it  was  impossible  to  trace  her.  Some 
months  later  Miss  Jillgall  received  an  illustrated  news¬ 
paper,  published  in  the  United  States.  She  showed  me 
one  of  the  portraits  in  it. 

“  Do  you  recognize  the  illustrious  original  ?”  she  asked, 
with  indignant  emphasis  on  the  last  two  words.  I  recog¬ 
nized  Helena.  “Now  read  her  new  title,”  Miss  Jillgah 
continued. 

I  read  “  The  Reverend  Miss  Gracedieu.” 

The  biographical  notice  followed.  Here  is  an  extract: 


THE  LEGACY  OF  CALM. 


301 


“This  eminent  lady,  once  the  victim  of  a  shocking  mis¬ 
carriage  of  justice,  is  now  the  distinguished  leader  of  a 
new  community — Priestess  of  the  Worship  of  Pure  Rea¬ 
son.” 

“I  once  asked  you,”  said  Miss  Jillgall,  “what  Helena 
would  do  when  she  came  out  of  prison,  and  you  said  she 
would  do  very  well.  Oh,  Mr.  Governor,  Solomon  was 
nothing  to  You  !” 


THE  END. 


■a,n(j 


New  \ 


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Shame  follows  every  neglect  in  life,  and  in  neglect  of  clean* 
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a  dirty  house,  a  greasy  kitchen,  or  a  filthy  cooking  utensil  is  » 
contempt  unrelieved  by  pity  and  unexcused  by  partiality.  Indeed, 
Ihere  is  no  excuse  for  such  things  when  every  Grocer  sells  SAPOLIO 
for  scouring  and  cleaning,  at  10c.  per  cake. 


THE  CELEBRATED 


ARE  PREFERRED  BY  LEADING  ARTISTS. 

The  demands  now  made  by  an  educated  musical  public  arc  so  exacting  that, 
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the  test  which  merit  requires.  SOHMElt  &  CO.,  as  Manufacturers,  rank 
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wares  rather  than  their  superior  quality  as  an  inducement  to  purchase,  it  may 
lot  be  amiss  to  suggest  that,  in  a  Piano,  quality  and  price  are  too  inseparaoly 
joined  to  expect  the  one  without  the  other. 

Every  Piano  ought  to  be  judged  as  to  its  quality  of  its  tone,  its  touch,  and  its 
workmanship ;  if  any  one  of  these  is  wanting  in  excellence,  however  good  the  others 
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do  what  they  seldom  accom¬ 
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the  conscience  of  the  house¬ 
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as  by  a  cotton-loving  species  of  moths  into  holes  by  wash¬ 
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Pearline,  used  according  to  the  directions,  which  accom¬ 
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Sold  everywhere. 

Manufactured  only  by 


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/ 


The  treatment  of  man 
cases  of  those  chronic 
distressing-  ailments  peci 
at  the  Invalids’  Hotel  a 
stitute,  Buffalo,  N.  Y., 
vast  experience  in  nice! 
thoroughly  testing-  ren 
cure  of  woman’s  peculia 

Dr.  Pierce’s  Favor 
tion  is  the  outgrowth,  o 
great  and  valuable  exp 
sands  of  testimonials  rec 
tients  and  from  physic 
tested  it  in  the  more  s 
obstinate  cases  which  h 
Skill,  prove  it  to  be  the 
remedy  ever  devised  fo 
cure  of  suffering  womei 
commended  as  a  “cure 
most  perfect  Speciflo 
peculiar  ailments. 

As# a  powerful, 
Conic  it  imparts  streng 
system,  and  to  the  uteru 
its  appendages,  in  partici 
worked,  “worn-out,”  “] 
bilitated  teachers,  millii 
ers,  seamstresses,  “shop 
keepers,  nursing  mothc 
women  generally,  Dr.  P: 
Prescription  is  the  greate 
being  unequalled  as  an 
dial  and  restorative  toni 
digestion  and  assimilatio 
nausea,  weakness  of  stc 
tion,  bloating  and  eructj 

As  a  soothing  and 
ing  nervine,  “  Favorib 
is  unequalled  and  is  inva 
ing  and  subduing  nervo 
irritability,  exhaustion,  p 
teria,  spasms  and  other  di 
ous  symptoms  commonly 
functional  and  organic 
womb.  It  induces  refrei 
relieves  mental  anxiety 
ency.  * 

Dr.  Pierce’s  Favor 
tion  is  a  legitimat 

carefully  compounded  b; 
ed  and  skillful  physiciai 
to  woman’s  delicate  orga; 

purely  vegetable  in  its  c< 


perfectly  harmless  In  its.  effects  irn  any 
condition  of  Me  systdmv  ’  ^ 

46 Favorite  Prescription”  is  a 
positive  cure  for  the  most  compli¬ 
cated  and  obstinate  cases  of  ieucorrhea, 
or  “  whites,”  excessive  flowing  at  month¬ 
ly  periods,  painful  menstruation,  unnat¬ 
ural  suppressions,  prolapsus  or  falling 
of  the  womb,  weak  back,  “female  weak¬ 
ness,”  anteversion,  retroversion,  bearing- 
down  sensations,  chronic  congestion,  in¬ 
flammation  and  ulceration  of  the  womb, 
inflammation,  pain  and  tenderness  in 
ovaries,  accompanied  with  internal  heat. 

In  pregnancy,  “Favorite  Prescrip¬ 
tion”  IS  a  “mnt.hfir’s  rnrrtiol  ”  rplimrinn1 


This  BOOK  may  be  kept  out  TWO  WEEKS 
ONLY,  and  is  subject  to  a  fine  of  FIVE 
CENTS  a  day  thereafter.  It  is  DUE  on  the 
DAY  indicated  below: 


^fSrWlthoriugfrintroductio^iflhe 
perfume  into  every  particle  of  the  soa 
elaborate  and  intricate  machinery  i$ 
fused  and  every  cake  is  stamped  wit 
[such  enormous  pressure  (30  tons)tha 


outlast  all  other  toilet  soaps.. 


■ 


=1  — 


Ci 


addition  to  the  unequalled  washmS 


\  ,m  w*m  i 

exceptionally  delicate,  and  delightful,  being 


year  an  amount  of  their  CASH  M  ERE  BOUQIir' 
jToilet  Soap  far  in  excess  of  the  comb* 


(the moreremarkable when  it isreme 


of  toilet  soaps  manufactured  by  Colga 


*  .*<* 


*  V 


